ew  nissioner 


409E 


THE   NEW   MISSIONER 


She  a.'«.s  a  slender  black-robed  teaman 


THE    NEW    MISSIONER 


BY 

MRS.  WILSON    WOODROW 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  BIED  OF  TIME 


NEW  YORK 

THE  MCCLURE  COMPANY 
MCMVII 


Copyright,  1907,  by  The  McClure  Company 


Published,  October,  1907 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
SHE    WAS    A   SLENDER    BLACK-ROBED    WOMAN  PAOE 

^Frontispiece 

STANDING  IN  THE  CENTRE  OF  THE  GROUP  SHE 
SPOKE  DIRECTLY  AND  MENACINGLY  TO 
FRANCES 12 

SHE  TURNED  TO  MRS.  EVANS  WITH  A  PLEADING 

EMBARRASSMENT  OF  MANNER       ....      96 

"  HELLO,  GIRLS,"  HE  ANSWERED  HEARTILY  .      .134 

IT  WAS  MYRTLE  WHO  WOULD  INNOCENTLY  MEET 

HIM 144 

BEFORE  THE   GIPSY'S  DOOR   STOOD   TWO    SHAGGY 

BURROS 206 

FOR  A  LONG  TIME  THEY  SAT  IN  SILENCE     .     .   234 
"  LISTEN,  MR.   CAMPBELL  " 266 


THE    NEW   MISSIONER 


CHAPTER  ONE 

1  SAW  the  New  Missioner  get  off  the  train  at  the 
station  this  morning,"  said  Garvin  to  Lutie.  "  I  thought 
you  told  me  that  Mrs.  Nitschkan  and  her  crowd  had 
driven  her  away  for  good." 

"  The  New  Missioner  back ! "  cried  Lutie,  her  wan 
little  face  flushing  with  excitement.  "  Ain't  you  mis 
taken,  Walt?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  Garvin.  "  I  drove  up 
on  the  hack  with  her,  saw  her  get  off  at  the  Thorn 
House,  and  heard  her  tell  Mrs.  Thorn  she  was  back  for 
good." 

"  I  bet  you  a  dollar  that  she  don't  stay,"  affirmed 
Lutie.  "  Mis'  Nitschkan  and  her  crowd  won't  have  it." 

"  I  bet  you  twenty-five  that  she  does  stay,"  said  the 
millionaire  of  Zenith,  laying  down  his  book  and  speak 
ing  with  earnestness  and  emphasis.  "  I  had  a  good  look 
at  her  this  afternoon.  Put  your  money  up,  Lutie,  here's 


mine. 
it 


All  right,"  responded  Lutie,  with  alacrity.  "  But 
if  she's  sure  back,  we'll  have  some  fun,  for  I'm  tellin' 
you,  Walt,  Mis'  Nitschkan  an'  her  friends  won't  have 
her.  They  say  they  don't  want  no  woman  missionary 
nosin'  around  this  camp.  Mis'  Thomas  said  yesterday 
that  it  was  a  matter  of  principle  with  'em;  that  they 
didn't  believe  it  was  possible  for  a  woman  to  bring  the 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

tidings  of  salvation.  I'll  bet  you  the  fun'll  begin  to 
morrow,  Walt." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  he  returned  absently. 

Lutie's  surmise  was  quite  correct.  Surely,  never  be 
fore  in  the  history  of  Zenith  had  the  advent  of  a  quiet, 
rather  insignificant  woman  created  so  much  discussion. 
Yet  fully  to  realise  the  importance  of  the  situation,  one 
must  understand  that  Zenith,  largely  by  virtue  of 
geographical  conditions,  was  almost  entirely  depend 
ent  upon  her  own  resources  for  interest  and  excite 
ment. 

It  was  a  mining  village  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
Rockies,  nestling  in  eternal  beauty,  and  surrounded  by 
chill,  snow-crowned  peaks,  and  yet,  if  one  might  judge 
from  appearances,  sordidly  indifferent  to  the  grandeur 
of  its  environment. 

It  was  to  this  remote  spot  that  the  Bishop  of  the 
diocese  that  included  Zenith,  had  sent  Frances  Benson, 
or,  as  she  was  speedily  and  currently  dubbed,  "  The 
New  Missioner." 

Now  the  Bishop  was  benign  and  worldly  as  well  as 
spiritually  wise,  and  consequently  he  had  asked  her,  per 
plexedly,  whimsically,  and  a  little  sorrowfully,  to  go 
to  this  especial  field. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  reproach  me  later,"  he  said 
apologetically,  "  but  you  have  sown  such  effective  seed 
on  such  unpromising  rocks  before — and  er — have 

shown  such  a  genius  for  your  work,  that Well,  to 

tell  the  truth," — in  a  burst  of  confidence, — "  you  are 

4 


CHAPTER    ONE 

the  only  material  I  have  that  may  " — doubtfully — "  pre 
vail."  " 

She  had  looked  at  him  with  something  like  laughter 
in  her  eyes  and  expressed  her  complete  willingness  to 
undertake  the  work  at  once.  Conscious  of  her  powers, 
she  loved  to  test  them.  The  Bishop  evidently  regarded 
Zenith  as  a  most  difficult  problem;  so  difficult  that  he 
would  intrust  it  to  no  one  but  her.  Her  heart  rose  in 
pride  and  gratitude.  She  loved  difficult  problems. 

And  she  had  gone,  and  she  had  liked  Zenith.  She  was 
one  of  those  whose  strength  cometh  from  the  hills ;  and 
among  the  pines,  the  splendid  shining  peaks,  where  the 
air  is  blown  crystal  clear,  there  seemed  to  descend  upon 
her  spirit,  worn  by  the  routine  of  monotonous  days,  the 
calm  and  healing  of  silence. 

She  felt  new  tides  of  an  almost  electrical  energy 
flowing  to  her;  and  her  stimulated  brain  constantly  de 
vised  fresh  plans  for  ennobling  and  vivifying  the  stag 
nant  village  life.  But  from  the  first  she  was  conscious 
of  some  strong,  baffling  force  which  invariably  turned 
the  current  of  sentiment  against  her  most  cherished 
views  and  plans.  By  patient  observation  she  grew  to 
know  that  the  force  that  balked  her  so  effectively  was 
feminine. 

Assured  of  the  correctness  of  her  surmise,  Frances 
was  too  astute  to  jeopard  her  position  by  any  false 
moves;  so,  after  due  inward  cogitation,  she  decided 
upon  a  masterly  inactivity,  a  withdrawal  into  the  wilder 
ness,  as  it  were. 

Consequently  she  departed,  and  the  combating  powers 

5 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

of  Zenith  believed  and  jubilantly  announced  that  she 
would  not  return. 

In  this  they  erred.  She  not  only  returned,  but  started 
out  the  morning  after  her  arrival  with  the  very  definite 
end  in  view  of  forcing  the  issue. 

Although  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  as  she  walked 
through  the  one  straggling  village  street,  the  sun  was 
just  beginning  to  peep  over  the  peaks.  But  that  had 
not  retarded  the  day's  activities.  The  miners  had  fol 
lowed  the  trails  upward  through  the  pines  two  hours 
before ;  the  children  were  all  in  school  as  the  last  tap  of 
the  cracked  bell  in  the  small  schoolhouse  belfry  pro 
claimed,  and  this  was  the  hour  when  the  women  invited 
their  souls  with  a  brief  interlude  of  stimulating  gossip 
across  front  gates  or  over  side  fences. 

This  morning  the  conversation  with  Frances  for  a 
topic  had  been  indefinitely  prolonged,  and,  as  in  many 
such  cases,  discussion  had  degenerated  into  acrimonious 
argument.  Frances,  however,  had  succeeded  in  appear 
ing  oblivious  to  the  unrepressed  comments  upon  her 
personal  appearance  and  her  calling,  as  she  walked 
through  the  one  street  Zenith  could  boast. 

She  was  a  slender,  black-robed  woman,  with  a  square, 
determined  face,  heavy,  dark  hair  and  the  large,  far 
away  eyes  of  the  mystic.  Hers  was  a  face  which  in  re 
pose  was  strong  and  plain ;  but  when  lighted  by  a  smile 
the  soft  and  very  feminine  mouth  took  curves  of  an 
appealing  sweetness,  and  even  coquetry,  which  captured 
the  beholder  with  the  sudden  charm  of  the  unexpected. 

Frances  Benson  had  been  born  of  the  lower  classes 

6 


CHAPTER    ONE 

of  a  great  city,  and  had  begun  life  as  a  waif  in  the 
stream  of  the  world.  With  aspiring  energy  she  had 
caught  at  straws  and  spars  and  struggled  ashore.  She 
had  managed,  none  knew  how,  to  secure  an  ordinary 
education,  and  at  sixteen  was  "  in  business  " ;  but  al 
though  commended  for  her  diligence,  she  was  un 
satisfied.  The  hand  and  the  brain  she  kept  occupied; 
but  the  heart  remained  untouched,  because  the  keynotes 
had  never  been  sounded.  But  finally  it  vibrated,  then 
rang  true  to  the  minor  chords,  the  wail  of  distress ;  the 
cry  of  thousands. 

She  had  followed  this  cry  to  the  slums  of  cities,  to 
the  factories,  and  the  mines;  had  worked  side  by  side 
with  the  labourers,  lived  their  lives,  made  their  neces 
sities  hers.  In  comforting,  managing,  nursing  and 
sometimes  preaching,  she  found  not  only  solace,  but 
scope  for  her  powers.  The  side  which  drew  upon  her 
executive  ability  also  appealed  to  her  imagination  and 
to  her  longing  to  spend  herself  and  be  spent;  and  the 
composure,  the  self-restraint  that  she  had  acquired 
through  those  years  of  training  stood  her  in  good  stead 
now,  for  there  was  no  hint  of  inward  perturbation  as, 
the  apparently  unconscious  cynosure  of  many  eyes,  she 
opened  the  gate  and  walked  up  the  untidy  path  to  a 
cabin  which  stood  somewhat  apart  from  the  neighbour 
ing  dwellings. 

There  are  certain  houses  which  wear  a  distinct  ex 
pression;  which  have,  as  it  were,  attained  a  physiog 
nomy.  This  cabin  was  one  of  them,  and  its  aspect,  heed 
less,  rakish  and  devil-may-care,  was  accentuated  by  its 

7 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

leaning  chimneys  and  the  litter  of  tin  cans  and  broken 
washtubs  in  the  disorderly  yard. 

At  the  Missionary's  first  low  knock  on  the  door  there 
was  the  faint  flutter  of  a  window  curtain  as  if  an  eye 
had  been  applied  and  hastily  withdrawn.  Then  the  door 
was  thrown  wide,  and  the  mistress  of  the  cabin  stood 
upon  the  threshold. 

She  was  a  type  to  whom  hardihood  is  a  birthright.  A 
short,  stout  figure  in  a  brief  cotton  skirt  which  freely 
disclosed  a  man's  boots,  she  stood  Napoleonic  and  alien 
among  her  kind.  A  man's  coat  was  buttoned  across  her 
burly  chest,  and  her  scant  curly  brown  hair  was  pushed 
under  a  man's  soft  hat  thrust  back  on  her  head.  Small 
alert  blue  eyes  twinkled  in  a  weather-beaten  red  face, 
and  her  smile  displayed  two  faultless  rows  of  tiny  teeth 
as  white  as  a  squirrel's. 

She  did  not  ape  masculinity  in  the  least ;  but  merely 
wrapped  herself  in  it  as  a  garment,  and  remained  the 
freebooting  Amazon,  unconsciously  exulting  in  the  posj 
session  of  two  sets  of  weapons — those  she  had  appro 
priated  from  man  and  those  of  her  own  sex. 

For  a  moment  she  surveyed  Frances,  and  then  threw 
the  door  wider  open. 

"  Come  in,  won't  you,  Missioner,"  bowing  with  iron 
ical  and  punctilious  courtesy.  "  Us  ladies  is  jus*  a- 
sittin*  here,  chattin'.  Choose  yer  chair,  Missioner.  I 
guess  you  know  the  ladies  present." 

The  women  referred  to  occupied  chairs  drawn  close  to 
the  stove,  and  were  to  all  appearances  enjoying  the  re 
freshment  of  both  tea  and  coffee.  Behold  the  redoubt- 

8 


CHAPTER     ONE 

able  Mrs.  Evans  sitting  among  her  prime  ministers 
— a  tiny,  black-eyed  creature  to  whom  the  languors  of 
her  larger  sisters  were  foreign.  She  alone  had  selected 
a  straight  chair,  and  now  sat  rigidly  erect,  her  arms 
folded  defiantly  across  her  chest  and  her  feet  barely 
touching  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Thomas,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  tall,  stout 
beauty,  with  the  appearance  of  a  Norse  giantess  and  the 
appealing,  kittenish  manners  and  baby  lisp  which  seem 
to  be  the  especial  temptation  of  the  Venus  Colossal. 
Mrs.  Landvetter  was  a  flat-faced  German,  large  of  build 
and  of  tremendous  physical  strength. 

After  the  first  cold  greeting  accorded  Frances,  no 
word  was  spoken.  The  four  women  among  whom  she 
sat  rocked  slowly  back  and  forth,  gazing  fixedly  at  the 
stove,  an  expression  of  deprecatory  meekness  on  their 
faces.  One  would  almost  have  said  that  they  purred. 
Their  lids  were  drooped,  but  in  their  eyes  was  that 
peculiar  glisten  seen  in  those  of  a  panther  on  guard. 

Their  silence  covered  the  swift  buckling  on  of 
armour,  the  marshalling  of  forces,  the  preparation  for 
the  subtlest,  most  merciless  conflict  on  earth — the  war 
fare  of  women,  a  warfare  ungoverned  by  codes  of  hon 
our  or  rules  of  the  game.  The  combat  of  men  is  as  the 
sport  of  children  in  comparison;  it  defines  itself  in  hot 
words,  the  swift,  material  vengeance  of  pistol  or  knife, 
a  fight  in  the  open. 

In  her  battles  with  man,  woman  uses  the  powerful 
arms  of  fascination,  appeal,  tears,  and  weakness ;  but 
in  the  struggle  of  woman  against  woman  such  wooden 

9 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

swords  and  paper  shields  are  cast  aside,  useless  toys  in 
that  warfare  of  strategy  and  ambush  which  employs 
poisoned  arrows  and  the  stiletto,  so  handled  that  the 
wounds  bleed  inwardly  and  show  no  trace. 

In  those  brief  moments  of  waiting  the  lines  on  the 
Missionary's  face  deepened,  and  the  strength  of  her 
face  became  more  apparent,  even  a  certain  vulgarity. 
She  had  mentally  reverted  to  the  frays  of  her  child 
hood,  and  felt  herself  again  the  hair-pulling,  kicking 
imp  of  the  slums,  shrilling  coarse  innuendo  at  her  foes. 
The  lady  she  had  striven  to  make  herself  slipped  from 
her  as  the  husk  from  a  kernel,  and,  like  her  sisters 
among  whom  she  sat,  she  was  a  primitive  cave-woman, 
stripped  of  all  of  civilisation's  hard-won  graces,  save 
only  self-control. 

As  it  became  evident  that  she  had  no  intention  of 
making  the  first  move,  the  members  of  the  opposition 
began  to  fidget  somewhat  uneasily  in  their  chairs  and 
glance  furtively  at  one  another.  Presently  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter's  deep  voice  broke  the  protracted  silence. 

"  I  vas  a-tellin'  you  about  dat  lace  of  mine  in  de 
pineapple  pattern,  vasn't  I,  Mis'  Thomas?"  she  in 
quired  innocently.  "  Oh,  it  vas  fine ;  von  foot  so  vide.  I 
lef  it  on  my  dresser  von  morgen  und  py  afternoon  it 
vas  gone." 

Before  Mrs.  Thomas  could  properly  condole  with  her 
friend  upon  this  much  discussed  loss,  Miss  Benson's 
voice  broke  in  clearly :  "  I  have  heard  of  that  lace  so 
often,"  she  remarked  coldly,  "  that  I  talked  the  matter 
over  with  the  Bishop  last  week,  and  we  resolved  that  if  it 

10 


CHAPTER     ONE 

was  not  soon  recovered,  a  court  of  law  should  investi 
gate  its  disappearance." 

This  rapid  return-fire  was  so  unexpected  that  the 
enemy  was  temporarily  thrown  into  confusion.  An 
awed  pause  ensued,  and  Mrs.  Landvetter,  to  cover  her 
embarrassment,  arose  and,  lifting  the  coffee-pot  with 
fine  nonchalance,  poured  her  cup  so  full  that  it  brimmed 
over  and  ran  down  into  the  saucer  in  streaky  rivulets. 

But  a  Thomas  to  the  rescue !  "  I  s'pose  you  ain't 
been  long  enough  in  Zenith,  Miss  Benson,"  addressing 
the  Missionary  with  suave  and  considerate  interest,  "  to 
catch  on  to  the  way  the  boys  feel  about  havin'  a  woman 
preacher.  It'll  be  pretty  hard  fer  you  right  along.  One 
of  the  boys  was  a-sayin'  to  me  to-day,  he  says " 

The  steel  of  Frances  Benson  flashed  in  the  air  and 
stabbed  squarely.  "  I  suspect  it  was  the  same  one  that 
told  me  he  was  glad  of  the  change,"  she  said  trenchantly. 
"  He  thought  his  grocery  bills  might  go  down,  now  that 
his  wife  couldn't  invite  the  preacher  in  for  every  meal." 

Mrs.  Thomas  fell  back  from  the  impact  of  the  blow, 
but  rallied  hastily  and  feinted  to  gain  time.  She  became 
suddenly  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  her  empty 
cup,  gazing  at  it  with  astonished  incredulity,  even  turn 
ing  it  sidewise  toward  the  light  and  squinting  at  it  as 
a  connoisseur  of  art  might  view  some  rare  treasure. 

"  Why,  Mis'  Nitschkan,"  she  murmured  perplexedly, 
"  I  do  declare,  ef  my  cup  ain't  plum  empty !  I'll  thank 
you  fer  another  cup  of  tea." 

The  gipsy  of  the  wilds,  the  hardy  denizen  of  mining 
camps,  sprang  to  her  feet  and  squared  her  shoulders 

11 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

determinedly  while  she  served  her  friend  with  a  brew  as 
strong  as  lye.  She  had  made  her  obeisance  to  etiquette, 
and  had  allowed  her  guests  the  opportunity  of  drawing 
first  blood.  Now  she  meant  to  take  command  of  the 
field  herself. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Missioner,"  she  said  bluntly,  "  they 
make  it  awful  hot  here  f er  folks  they  don't  like ;  an'  us 
girls  ain't  so  bad  at  that  game,  either.  Girls,  you  re 
member  that  book-agent,  an'  also  that  schoolmarm  that 
we  got  rid  of?  " 

Standing  in  the  centre  of  the  group  she  spoke  di 
rectly  and  menacingly  to  Frances. 

"  That  book-agent,  she  come  here  day  after  day,  al 
ways  with  that  '  Famous  Women  '  series  under  her  arm ; 
but  I  fixed  her  at  last.  '  Mis'  Tompkins,'  I  says,  real 
polite,  '  put  your  books  down  on  that  chair,  an'  come 
into  the  front  room  while  I  give  you  a  cup  of  coffee.' 
'  All  right,'  she  says,  an'  lays  down  her  books.  Well,  I 
got  her  in  the  easy  chair  in  the  front  room,  with  the 
photograph  album  to  look  at,  an'  then  I  run  back  fer  a 
cup.  Celia  was  a-settin'  there  on  the  kitchen  floor;  she 
was  just  about  three  then.  Well,  I  reached  her  a  jug 
of  molasses  an'  I  says,  '  Celia,  paint  the  pretty  book.' 
An'  Celia  did.  Oh,  how  that  Tompkins  took  on  when 
she  seen  it !  " 

She  bent  herself  double  in  paroxysms  of  laughter, 
which  were  ably  echoed  by  her  guests,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  the  missionary,  who  made  no  attempt  to  conceal 
her  cold  scorn. 

"I  jus'  raised  myself  like  this,  an'  looked  her  in  the 


Standing  in  the  centre  of  the  group  she  spoke  directly 
and  menacingly  to  Frances 


CHAPTER     ONE 

eye,  an'  says  as  cold,  '  You  lef  them  books  at  your  own 
resk ;  now  try  an'  make  me  pay  f er  'em  ef  you  dare ! ' 
An',  girls,  she  jus'  slunk  out. 

"  An',"  continued  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  stimulated  by  her 
success,  and  still  gasping  with  laughter,  "  you  remem 
ber  that  schoolteacher — nasty,  stuck-up  thing — I 
couldn't  stand  her  from  the  first!  No  more  could  you, 
Mis'  Evans ;  nor  you,  Mis'  Thomas.  So  I  told  Celia  to 
cut  up  as  many  monkey  tricks  as  she  pleased  at  school. 
Well,  one  day  she  come  home  cryin'.  *  Mommy,'  she 
says,  '  I  can't  go  back  to  school  no  more.  Teacher,  she's 
expended  me,  'cause  I'm  so  bad.' 

"  '  She  did,  did  she  ?  '  I  says.  *  I'd  like  to  see  her  de 
prive  any  child  of  mine  of  learnin','  an'  I  marched 
straight  off  to  the  schoolhouse.  '  What  do  you  mean,' 
I  says,  '  by  drivin'  my  child  away  from  school?  I  s'pose 
you  want  her  to  be  as  ignorant  as  you  think  her  mommy 
is ;  but  I'll  show  you  a  thing  or  two ! '  With  that  she 
begun  to  cry.  '  Oh,'  she  says,  '  I'm  a-goin'  to  leave  this 
cruel,  wicked  place ! '  '  That's  right,'  I  says,  '  an'  I'll 
advise  you  to  leave  quick.' ' 

She  concluded  with  a  great  burst  of  mirth,  in  which 
the  rocking  women  joined,  now  easing  and  again  break 
ing  out  into  fresh  chuckles.  Then,  tightening  her  lips, 
she  nodded  directly  and  threateningly  at  the  missionary, 
as  if  to  say,  "  You've  heard  me ;  take  the  lesson  home." 
The  rocking  women  caught  their  breaths  in  delight  and 
admiration. 

There  was  one  quick  heave  of  Frances  Benson's  bosom, 
and  then  she  slowly  lifted  her  head,  her  eyes  fixed  un- 

13 


waveringly  upon  those  of  the  burly  mountain  lioness — 
no  longer  the  unseeing  orbs  of  the  mystic,  full  of 
strange  visions,  but  the  cold,  quick  eyes  of  the  shrewd 
organiser,  alight  with  exultant  power.  Her  voice  rang 
high,  almost  shrill. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  this  teacher,  Mrs.  O'Donnell 
— I  mean  Nitschkan  ?  "  Steadily,  mercilessly,  she  held 
her  tormentor's  eyes  while  the  gipsy  gazed  at  her  as  if 
fascinated.  Thus  challenged,  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  face 
went  white,  her  lids  drooped,  and  her  defiant  figure  grew 
limp  and  nerveless ;  but  the  missionary  was  implacable. 
"  Strange  that  I  should  have  used  that  name ! "  she 
ruminated.  "  It  belonged  to  a  man  I  used  to  know  in 
Arizona,  and  met  in  Denver  a  week  ago.  He  was  search 
ing  for  some  trace  of  the  wife  who  had  deserted  him 
several  years  back,  taking  with  her  his  watch  and  five 
hundred  dollars  in  money.  He  has  never  divorced 
her!" 

The  breath  that  broke  from  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  lips 
was  almost  a  sob.  Forgetful  of  the  friends  who  scanned 
her  with  quick,  curious  glances,  she  stood  perfectly 
still,  twisting  the  corner  of  her  apron  and  gazing  with 
drooping  mouth  and  hunted  eyes  about  the  cheerful 
room — her  home — hers!  Her  gaze  roved  about  the  walls 
and  out  through  the  window  where  the  towheads  of  her 
children  shone  in  the  sunlight.  For  a  moment  she  heaved 
and  trembled,  and  then  the  fire  came  back  to  her  eyes. 
She  straightened,  stiffened,  and  sprang  at  the  mission 
ary,  seizing  her  by  the  shoulders  and  shaking  her  back 
and  forth. 

14 


CHAPTER     ONE 

"  You'd  come  here  with  your  lyin'  tales,  would  you  ?  " 
she  screamed  hoarsely.  "  You'd  come  here  an'  try  an' 
take  my  husband  an'  children  away  from  me?  That's 
what  you're  up  to !  But  I'm  a-goin'  to  kill  you !  That's 
what  I'm  a-goin'  to  do — kill  you !  Wring  the  neck  of 
you  like  you  was  a  chicken,  which  you  are !  You  skinny 
monkey,  you  want  to  get  me  out  of  the  way  so  you  can 
have  my  man  an'  my  children.  You've  been  after  him 
a'ready !  " 

The  Missionary  struck  the  mountain  woman  across 
the  face.  "You're  a  liar!"  cried  the  daughter  of  the 
slums.  There  ensued  a  moment  of  fierce  tussle,  while  the 
onlookers  collapsed  in  hysterics,  with  the  exception  of 
tiny  Mrs.  Evans.  That  intrepid  soul  hurled  herself  into 
the  fray,  and,  seizing  Mrs.  Nitschkan  by  the  arm, 
dragged  her  around. 

"  Are  you  crazy?  "  she  cried.  "  Fer  God's  sake,  stop 
poundin'  her !  Darn  you,  Nitschkan,  don't  you  know  us 
ladies  is  got  some  social  position  to  keep  up?  Now  stop 
it,  I  say !  Missioner  ain't  goin'  to  say  nothin'  outside  if 
we  fall  in  with  her;  are  you,  Mis'  Benson?  " 

The  missionary  fell  back  against  the  wall,  pale, 
bruised,  trembling,  but  with  "  no  capitulation  "  written 
on  every  line  of  her  face  and  figure. 

"  No,"  she  gasped ;  "  I'll  never  tell  as  long  as  you're 
willing  to  help  me  in  the  Lord's  work." 

"  Now,  you  hear  that,  Mis'  Nitschkan,  an'  all  you 
ladies,"  crisped  the  decisive  Evans.  "  We're  a-goin'  to 
consider  everything  unsaid,  an'  all  unpleasantness  over. 
Here,  Nitschkan,  set  in  this  chair  an'  pull  yourself  to- 

15 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

gether  while  I  rustle  around  fer  fresh  tea.   Mis'  Thomas, 
get  Miss  Benson  a  clean  cup." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Mrs.  Nitschkan  cowered  in  her 
chair,  pulling  with  trembling  fingers  at  her  torn  coat 
sleeve.  Then,  throwing  her  apron  over  her  head,  she 
broke  into  wild  sobbing,  which  alternated  with  a  rasp 
ing  and  mirthless  laughter. 

"  The  '  strikes,'  "  said  Mrs.  Evans  composedly,  pour 
ing  boiling  water  into  the  teapot.  "  It'll  be  a  relief  f  cr 
her;  jes'  let  her  be." 

"  How'd  ever  we  poor  women  bear  our  lives  if  it 
wasn't  fer  'em  ?  "  murmured  Mrs.  Thomas.  "  Lay  off 
your  hat,  Miss  Benson,"  she  continued,  in  a  voice  which 
was  as  oil.  "  How's  your  health,  now  ?  If  you've  ever 
had  anything  wrong  with  your  lungs,  this  is  just  the 
place  fer  'em.  If  it's  your  liver,  well,  I'd  say  a  cup  of 
sage  tea  night  an'  mornin'.  Oh,  you  got  your  hand  tore, 
didn't  you?  Why,  it's  a  real  bad  scratch.  Let  me  rub 
in  a  little  '  Rocky  Mountain  '  salve — do." 

But  the  missionary  seemed  not  to  hear  her.  She,  too, 
had  fallen  into  a  chair,  and  sat  staring  before  her  with 
a  white  face  and  staring  eyes. 

"  I  came  to  Zenith  to  try  and  help,"  she  stammered, 
«  but  I " 

"  That's  right,  to  try  an'  help.  Well,  woman  dear, 
what  else  are  we  on  earth  for?  To  do  for  others,  I, 
say." 

Mrs.  Nitschkan,  despite  her  dishevelled  appearance, 
had  quite  recovered  herself,  and  was  even  more  desirous 
than  her  sisters  of  ignoring  the  past. 

16 


CHAPTER     ONE 

Frances  Benson  struggled  to  her  feet.  "  I  can't  stay, 
unless  you  ladies  really  want  to  help  me."  She  stood 
leaning  weakly  against  the  door,  her  face  white  and 
deadly  fatigued ;  but  her  eyes  steady,  no  hint  of  failing 
purpose  in  them.  "Will  you  help?  " 

"  Well  I  guess  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Nitschkan  heartily, 
speaking  for  all.  "  You  can  depend  on  us,  Miss  Benson, 
now  an'  hereafter.  Ain't  it  so,  girls  ?  " 

''  You  bet ! "  returned  Mrs.  Evans  with  even  more 
decision.  "  Marthy  Thomas,  pour  the  Missioner  a  nice, 
hot  cup  of  coffee." 


17 


CHAPTER  TWO 

/\LL  that  afternoon  Frances  Benson  sat  in  her  room 
in  the  Thorn  House,  the  mountain  hotel  to  which  she 
had  been  directed  by  the  Bishop  before  her  arrival  in 
Zenith,  and  where,  since  the  tenure  of  her  stay  seemed 
so  uncertain,  she  had  since  remained. 

It  was  a  bare,  uncarpeted  little  room,  with  two  small 
windows  framing  magnificent  pictures  of  the  narrow 
plain  and  the  towering  mountains  beyond;  a  comfort 
less  chamber  with  a  few  pieces  of  pine  furniture  which 
gave  evidence  of  long  and  hard  usage.  So  illy  put  to 
gether  were  the  rough  board  partitions  separating  the 
rooms,  that  it  seemed  to  Frances  that  by  night  or  day 
she  was  never  able  to  secure  the  privacy  for  which  she 
longed.  About  her  there  were  always  footfalls  and 
voices,  laughter  and  oaths.  She  was  coughing  con 
stantly  from  the  tobacco  smoke  which  floated  through 
the  cracks  in  the  walls  and  wavered  in  long,  blue  lines 
across  the  room.  It  was  only  when  out  upon  the  hill 
sides  that  she  ever  felt  herself  alone. 

Longing  for  peace  and  silence,  bruised  in  body  and 
soul,  she  had  returned  to  the  inn  after  the  scene  at  Mrs. 
Nitschkan's,  and,  unheeding  the  raucous  summons  of 
the  dinner  bell,  had  slowly  dragged  herself  up  the  stairs 
to  the  unquiet  chamber.  For  an  hour  or  two  she  had  sat 
there,  one  arm  flung  over  the  table  and  head  bent  upon 

18 


CHAPTER     TWO 

it,  dully  conscious  of  a  bodily  ache  and  of  the  black 
waves  of  depression  which  rose  rhythmically,  monot 
onously,  like  the  sullen  waters  of  an  incoming  tide,  and 
swept  over  her  soul,  engulfing  its  hope  and  quenching  its 
light. 

All  the  tense  force,  the  poise,  the  courage,  expressed 
in  every  line  and  pose  of  her  body  was  gone.  It  was  as 
if  the  spirit  had  withdrawn  itself  and  left  only  the  nerve 
less,  crumpled,  unstable  flesh.  At  last  she  lifted  her  head 
and  looked  dejectedly,  almost  dazedly,  about  her. 

"  I  didn't  meet  it  right,"  she  murmured ;  "  I  didn't 
meet  it  right.  I  put  myself  on  their  level.  There  didn't 
seem  to  be  any  other  way ;  but  there  must  have  been — 
only  I  didn't  have  light  enough  to  see  it.  Yes,  there 
must  have  been  another  way,  but  I'm  so  weak " 

She  drew  toward  her  a  Bible  on  the  table,  and,  open 
ing  it,  bent  above  it,  her  pale  cheek  leaning  on  her 
hand.  Thus  she  read  until  the  room  had  so  filled  with 
shadows  that  she  could  not  discern  the  words,  then 
soothed  and  calmed,  she  arose  to  light  the  lamp.  Sad 
still,  but  with  regained  poise,  she  was  able  to  review  the 
situation.  If  she  was  incapable  yet  of  rejoicing,  she  at 
least  found  relief  in  the  thought  that  one  question  was 
definitely  decided :  she  was  to  stay  in  Zenith,  and  she  did 
not  have  to  confess  defeat  to  the  Bishop. 

But  the  lamp  chimney  she  was  adjusting  almost  fell 
from  her  hands,  for  she  was  startled  by  a  quick  knock 
upon  the  door,  and  the  landlady's  daughter,  without 
waiting  to  be  bidden,  announced  two  visitors,  Mr.  Her- 
ries  and  Mr.  Campbell. 

19 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

Upon  Frances's  request  that  they  enter,  there  ap 
peared  two  old  men,  whom  she  remembered  to  have  seen 
in  the  little  church  on  one  or  two  previous  Sundays. 
The  first  to  come  forward  from  the  gloom  of  the  door 
way  was  Herries,  a  tall,  bowed  figure  with  a  keen,  aqui 
line,  intellectual  face,  and  a  quantity  of  snowy  hair 
which  fell  across  his  brow.  His  clumsy,  patched  boots 
and  rough  clothes  betrayed  his  poverty,  while  his  seamed, 
twisted  hands  bespoke  the  hardest  toil.  Close  behind 
him  followed  Campbell,  a  withered  stump  of  a  man,  who 
crouched,  a  huddled  little  figure  in  the  chair  Frances 
offered  him,  his  feet  failing  to  touch  the  floor  by  an 
inch  or  two.  He  did  not  speak,  even  in  answer  to  her 
greeting,  but  watched  her  every  movement  with  strange, 
wild  eyes  peering  from  a  mat  of  tangled  whiskers  and 
grey  hair. 

"  We  have  come,"  said  Herries,  with  a  certain  unctu 
ous  formality,  a  sort  of  solemn  hilarity,  "  to  con 
gratulate  you  upon  your  victory."  There  was  a  sardonic 
gleam  of  excitement  in  his  piercing  blue  eyes. 

"  Amen !  "  It  was  one  deep,  fervent  note,  rich,  vibrat 
ing,  resonant,  like  the  mellow  tone  of  a  bell,  from  the 
little  man  at  his  side.  "  We  have  heard  that  you  have 
this  day  been  given  the  grace  to  vanquish  the  hosts  of 
the  Egyptians  which  have  been  arrayed  against  you." 

Frances  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"  Why — why "  she  stammered  helplessly.  "  Who 

knew " 

Alexander  Herries  laughed  discordantly.  "  Who 
knew?" — his  speech  as  well  as  that  of  Campbell  was 

20 


CHAPTER     TWO 

marked  by  a  strong  Scotch  accent — "who  knew?  The 
hills,  the  trees,  the  very  rocks.  If  you  breathe  in 
Zenith,  it  is  known.  You  have  always  lived  in  cities 
where  you  get  to  know  the  things  that  happen.  Go  to 
the  wilderness  to  know  yourself.  Strange  shapes  will  rise 
and  mock  you,  yourself,  yourself,  always  yourself — a 
thousand  selves  you  never  dreamed  of;  but  come  to  the 
little,  hidden  villages  to  know  men  and  women — aye,  and 
you  will  read  a  sorry  tale ! "  He  mused  a  moment,  his 
face  grown  bitter.  "  Yes,"  his  voice  changing,  "  a 
good  many  of  the  boys  are  broke  to-night  on  account  of 
you,  Missioner — the  betting  was  all  against  you;  but 
there  isn't  one  of  them  that's  not  taking  off  his  hat  to 
you,  now.  You  were  supposed  to  pack  up  and  clear  out 
to-night.  The  Aid  Society  had  spoken."  The  habitual 
sneer  on  his  crooked  mouth  deepened. 

"  The  Aid  Society !  "  she  repeated  uncomprehend- 
ingly. 

"  So.  The  Ladies'  Aid  Society  of  Zenith.  One  of  the 
kitchens  in  hell  where  considerable  broth  is  brewed.  Is 
it  not  so,  Campbell  ?  " 

"  Aye."  Again  the  mellow  note  boomed  from  the 
huddled  figure  beside  him. 

Frances  sat  for  a  moment  in  painful  embarrassment. 
She  had  no  wish  to  discuss  the  events  of  the  day. 

"  Wasn't  it  your  cabin  I  saw  a  day  or  two  ago,  on 
Corona  mountain  ? "  she  asked  Campbell,  in  an  en 
deavour  to  draw  him  into  the  conversation  and  change 
the  subject;  but  although  she  spoke  directly  to  him, 
she  saw  at  once  that  his  thoughts  were  far  away.  His 

21 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

eyes  were  clear  and  apparently  returning  her  gaze ;  but 
the  clearness  seemed  only  of  the  surface ;  behind,  it  was 
as  if  a  veil  had  fallen. 

"  No,"  replied  Herries,  speaking  for  him.  "  He  lives 
with  Mrs.  Landvetter — Mrs.  Landvetter,  about  whose 
neck  ye  have  put  a  halter."  He  laughed  in  harsh  glee. 
"  He  has  strange  powers,  has  the  little  man.  With  a  bit 
of  wire  in  one  hand  and  certain  numbers  that  he  can 
use,  he  can  locate  ore.  'Tis  true,"  nodding ;  "  I  have 
seen  him  do  it  more  than  once.  And  he  has  a  strange 
knowledge  of  things  unseen.  Some  call  him  mad.  Oh," 
— carelessly,  seeing  her  embarrassment, — "  he  does  not 
hear  you." 

There  was  nothing  superstitious  in  Frances  Benson's 
nature,  and  yet,  as  she  sat  in  the  dimly  lighted  room 
with  the  two  old  men,  the  one  with  his  clear,  unseeing 
eyes,  the  other,  sardonic,  mocking,  and  strong,  a  man 
of  passions  and  prejudices,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
faint  awe,  a  creeping  chill. 

But  as  she  turned  her  gaze  from  one  to  the  other, 
Campbell's  face  changed,  he  passed  his  hand  across  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  Frances  with  a  kindly  and  intimate 
scrutiny. 

"  Ruth  likes  her,"  he  said  simply,  addressing  Herries. 
"  She  says—  -  "  He  broke  off  and  listened  intently,  his 
eyes  again  becoming  veiled. 

"  He  means  his  wife,"  explained  Herries.  "  She's 
been  dead  ten  years.  He  thinks  she's  with  him  much  of 
the  time.  He  had  a  cabin  in  Pepper  Gulch.  People  had 
been  living  there  for  fifty  years,  when  in  a  February 


CHAPTER     TWO 

there  was  a  thaw  and  then  a  sudden  freshet,  and  before 
they  knew  it  the  flood  was  upon  them,  the  cabin  was 
swept  away  and  his  wife  and  son  were  drowned.  By 
some  miracle  he  was  saved." 

He  spoke  as  freely  as  before,  quite  as  if  Campbell 
were  not  in  the  room,  and  Frances,  glancing  apprehen 
sively  at  the  old  visionary,  saw  that  he  had  again 
journeyed  to  his  far  country. 

But  before  she  could  avert  her  glance  he  had  returned 
to  the  mundane. 

"  Do  you  feel  the  spirit  of  the  mountains  ?  "  he  asked 
her.  "  Was  it  that  which  drew  you  here  ?  " 

"  The  spirit  of  the  mountains,"  she  repeated,  "  the 
spirit  of  the  mountains  ?  "  But  she  echoed  his  question 
mechanically  and  with  her  lips.  His  words  vibrated  all 
through  her  consciousness,  as  if  some  unknown  chord 
of  her  being  had  been  struck  and  awakened  to  music. 
She  looked  at  him  with  quick  response.  With  this  mad, 
old  man  one  could — nay  must — speak  soul  to  soul;  he 
permitted  no  other  speech. 

"  When  the  train  rolled  through  the  plains,"  she  went 
on  eagerly,  the  fetters  of  her  habitual  self-restraint 
falling  from  her,  "  I  seemed  to  be  waiting,  waiting.  I 
had  never  been  in  the  mountains  before." 

She  stopped  in  the  full  tide  of  her  eagerness.  She 
forgot  to  speak.  The  mental  impression  transcended 
words.  She  saw  again  those  narrow  gorges  up  which  the 
engine  drawing  the  train  had  slowly  panted,  higher, 
higher,  always  higher,  the  way  ever  growing  darker; 
great  rocks  overhung  the  road  and  were  flung  about  in 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

strange  shapes.  A  dark,  terrible  region,  haunted  by 
hideous  dreams  of  avarice  and  sordid  seeking.  She  shiv 
ered.  Then  came  the  narrow  plains  and  rocky  hills,  and 
suddenly  she  lifted  her  head,  her  eyes  dilating — the  blue 
ranges  and  the  white,  awful  peaks. 

"And  ye  heard  the  message?"  he  asked  again,  in 
sistent,  inexorable. 

"  The  message?  "  she  whispered.  Her  mouth  quivered, 
the  words  seemed  drawn  from  unsounded  depths  of  her 
nature :  "  '  Behold  I  show  you  a  mystery  '  " — her 
scarcely  audible  speech  was  broken  by  pauses — "  '  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth.5 ' 

"  Aye.  You  were  drawn," — one  deep  note  of  satis 
faction.  "  So  was  Ethel.  Do  you  know  Ethel?  " 

"  Ethel  ? "  she  repeated,  vaguely  startled  by  the 
thought  that  he  might  again  be  referring  to  a  friend 
in  that  strange  world  whose  boundaries  he  passed  so 
easily.  "  Ah,"  in  quick  recollection,  "  do  you  mean  the 
Salvation  Army  girl  who  spoke  to  me  one  Sunday  night 
after  church?  She  said  that  her  name  was  Ethel."  She 
remembered  a  slender  girl  with  a  pale,  pretty  face,  big 
grey  eyes  and  a  cleft,  scarlet  mouth.  The  bonnet  of  the 
Army  covered  her  ashen,  fair  hair. 

"  The  same,"  muttered  Herries,  nodding  his  head  and 
speaking  with  some  pride.  "  She  was  a  brand  the  little 
man  snatched  from  the  burning.  Mad  or  sane,  he  saved 
Ethel.  One  night  when  he  was  down  at  the  Springs  he 
felt  moved  to  preach  in  the  streets, — he  often  does, — 
and  Ethel,  who  was  passing  'in  her  silks  and  satins  with 
the  paint  thick  upon  her  face,  stopped  to  listen." 

24 


CHAPTER     TWO 

"  I  saw  her,"  Campbell  cried ;  "  maybe  there  were 
others,  but  I  saw  only  her,  and  the  Word  came  to  me 
strong  and  terrible.  '  This  night  thou  shalt  demand  her 
soul,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  thee.' 
And  I  spoke  to  her  the  Word  as  it  was  given  me,  and 
she  listened.  Then  I  saw  the  Fiend  in  visible  form  come 
from  the  shadows  and  pluck  at  her  elbow  and  whisper 
in  her  ear ;  and  I  groaned,  for  I  thought  I  should  have 
to  fight  long  and  hard ;  but  the  Word  came :  *  Stand 
thou  still  and  see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord ! '  And  I 
spoke  no  more ;  but  she  ran  to  me,  and  knelt  at  my  feet 
and  her  tears  poured  down  her  cheeks.  After  that  she 
tarried  no  longer  by  the  rivers  of  Babylon;  she  came 
here  and  joined  the  Army." 

"Yes,"  said  Herries,  nodding  his  head  affirmatively, 
"  that's  so.  Some  thinks  him  mad ;  but  mad  or  sane, 
he  saved  Ethel.  But,  Missioner,  we  must  keep  you  no 
longer.  Rise,  Campbell,  we  must  go." 

An  idea,  she  regarded  it  afterwards  as  an  inspiration, 
came  to  Frances  as  she  sat  there.  "  Wait  one  moment. 
I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  exclaimed,  impul 
sively  following  them  to  the  door.  "  Do  either  of  you 
know  where  I  can  get  a  little  cabin  to  live  in?  There  is 
so  much  noise  and  confusion  here  in  the  hotel,  and  now  " 
— with  one  of  her  quick  smiles — "  that  I  am  going  to 
remain  here,  I  want  a  place  of  my  own." 

Herries  pondered  a  moment  with  lower  jaw  pushed 
forward.  "  There  is  a  cabin  of  Garvin's  on  Corona 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  mine.  It's  empty  now, 
and  he  might  rent  it  to  you." 

25 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

"On  Corona!"  delightedly.  "I  should  like  that. 
Who  is  Mr.  Garvin,  and  where  can  I  find  him  ?  " 

"  Walt  Garvin,"  said  Herries,  "  is  the  biggest  mine 
owner  in  these  parts 

"  An  unbeliever !  "  said  Campbell. 

Herries  twisted  his  mouth.  "  The  biggest  mine  owner 
in  these  parts.  He  owns  the  Crescent  Consolidated,  the 
Mont  d'Or,  the  Gold  Bug  and  half  a  dozen  others.  He 
struck  it  rich  about  five  years  ago;  and  he's  a  white 
fellow.  I'll  show  you  where  he  lives."  He  walked  over  to 
the  narrow-paned  window.  "  Do  you  see  those  lights 
twinkling  yonder  on  the  flat?  "  he  asked,  pointing  with 
one  great,  rugged  forefinger. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that's  his  house." 

"  His  palace,"  came  the  arresting,  accusing,  stern 
tones  of  Campbell ;  "  the  palace  that  he  built  for  his 
light-o'-love." 


CHAPTER  THREE 

F  RANGES  paid  no  heed  to  Campbell's  last  words, 
scarcely  heard  them,  in  fact.  Her  mind  was  too  fully 
occupied  with  the  thought  of  a  cabin  on  Corona — a 
little  home  among  the  hills.  The  idea  was  so  attractive  to 
her,  the  mental  picture  it  presented  so  pleasing,  that  she 
resolved  to  see  Garvin  about  the  matter  early  the  next 
morning;  but  upon  inquiry  as  to  the  best  time  to  find 
him  at  home,  she  learned  that  he  was  usually  early  at  his 
mines  or  mills  and  .would  probably  be  occupied  at  one 
place  or  another  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  so  that  it 
was  nearing  sunset  on  the  following  day  before  she 
started  on  her  mission. 

Leaving  the  Thorn  House,  she  walked  down  Sunshine 
Avenue,  the  poetic  name  of  the  mountain  road  which 
served  also  as  the  one  street  of  the  straggling  village. 
After  ceasing  to  be  an  avenue  the  road  continued  for 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  lush  brown  meadows, 
and  ran  across  a  little  bridge  over  a  creek  which 
separated  the  higher  flat  from  the  waste  land. 

In  spite  of  her  eagerness  to  secure  a  cabin  on  Corona, 
Frances  paused  on  the  bridge  nevertheless  and,  leaning 
upon  the  rail,  watched  the  fast  flowing  waters  of  the 
mountain  stream.  So  clear  was  it  that  she  could  count 
the  pebbles  in  the  narrow  channel  where  the  water  ran. 
On  either  side  of  this  rippling  tide  were  several  feet  of 
ice,  thin  and  crinkled,  and  jutting  out  over  the  water  in 

27 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

sharp,  broken  points  and  arrowy  spars.  Along  the 
banks  were  clumps  of  willows,  whose  long  yellow-ochre 
wands  were  beginning  to  look  alive,  to  swell  and  ripple 
with  faint,  tremulous  undulations,  ready  to  burst  in  a 
day,  in  an  hour,  into  their  tender,  grey-green  leaves. 
Frances  drew  in  long  breaths  of  the  indescribably  pure 
air.  There  was  Spring  in  it,  Spring  with  all  its  rap 
turous  promises,  its  high,  ethereal  ecstasy.  She  longed 
to  linger  there;  reluctantly,  she  turned  her  face 
westward,  toward  her  destination,  and  paused  again, 
arrested. 

The  "  flat "  stretched  before  her  straight  and  level 
for  a  short  distance,  and  ended  in  a  growth  of  pines 
which  rose  tier  on  tier  up  a  mountain  side,  regular, 
solemn,  mysterious,  and  beyond  them,  through  a  gap  in 
the  hills,  a  flaming  sun  sank  slowly  behind  two  snow- 
crowned,  sharp-cut  peaks,  which  looked  one,  but  were 
perhaps  twenty  miles  apart.  Frances  forgot  her  errand, 
her  eagerness  to  execute  it,  and  stood  silently  with  her 
uplifted  gaze  on  the  hills  before  her,  until  the  last  glow 
of  the  sunset  had  vanished  and  the  grey  twilight  met  and 
melted  into  the  black  shadows  from  the  hills. 

With  the  change,  the  one  house  on  the  "  flat "  which 
had  during  the  splendour  of  the  day  been  an  incon 
spicuous  feature  of  the  landscape,  now  dominated  it,  as 
a  many-facetted  and  brilliant  jewel  may  shine  upon  a 
dark  velvet  gown.  Lights  gleamed  from  numerous  win 
dows.  "  A  palace ! "  Old  Alexander  Campbell's  words 
recurred  to  her.  It  was  indeed  a  palace  in  Zenith ;  Zenith 
of  the  two-  and  three-roomed  cabins. 

28 


CHAPTER    THREE 

Her  ring  at  the  door  was  answered  by  a  Chinese 
servant,  and  upon  her  request  to  see  Mr.  Garvin,  she  was 
ushered  into  a  large  room  so  flooded  with  light  that, 
coming  from  the  soft  twilight  without,  she  was  almost 
blinded;  and  she  was  further  dazzled  by  a  richness  of 
fitting  and  furnishing  which  struck  upon  her  eyes  al 
most  like  a  blow,  and  left  her  for  the  moment  confused 
and  bewildered. 

The  room  was  indeed  garish  and  ostentatious  to  a  de 
gree.  Heavy,  flowered  red  curtains  fell  over  inner  ones 
of  white  lace  before  the  windows.  There  were  great 
upholstered  red  satin  chairs  and  couches  alternating 
with  spindle-legged  gilt  ones.  The  lamps  which  were  in 
profusion  were  covered  with  white  and  scarlet  shades. 
There  was  a  litter  of  bric-a-brac  on  tables  and  pedestals, 
and  upon  the  walls  were  pictures  representing  various 
kinds  of  cheap  sentiment — Watteau  young  men  and 
women  embracing  in  terraced  gardens,  or  stout  cardinals 
in  gorgeous  robes  smiling  upon  Louis  Quatorze  wait 
ing-maids. 

Frances  shrank  back  involuntarily  from  the  glare, 
and  then,  as  she  became  more  accustomed  to  it,  her 
glance  fell  upon  a  slight  figure  which  had  risen  from 
one  of  the  great  chairs,  pushing  back  a  table  before  her 
to  do  so.  It  was  a  pale  and  weary  girl.  Her  dull  brown 
hair  lay  in  one  long  plait  down  her  back,  and  a  tea- 
gown  of  some  gauzy  texture  and  of  an  extreme  and 
eccentric  mode  fell  from  her  thin  shoulders.  Her  face, 
still  pretty,  showed  that  she  had  once  possessed  a  radi 
ant  and  flower-like  beauty;  but  the  skin  had  yellowed 

29 


THE      NEW    MISSIONER 

with  ill-health,  and  was  covered  with  many  fine  lines  of 
weariness  and  pain.  The  brilliant  eyes  shone  with  a  fitful 
and  feverish  light. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  said  in  a  weak,  petulant 
voice.  "  Was  you  wanting  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  Frances  Benson,  a  Missionary,"  said  her 
uninvited  guest,  "  and  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Garvin  about 
renting  a  cabin." 

"  Oh,  the  Missionary ! "  She  viewed  Frances  half 
respectfully,  half  resentfully.  "  Won't  you  sit  down  ? 
I'll  call  him.  Wa— It !  "  lifting  her  voice ;  "  say,  Walt, 
come  here ! " 

The  curtains  before  the  door  parted,  and  a  tall,  thin 
man,  with  a  worn  and  lined  face  and  deeply  sunken  eyes, 
entered. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Lutie?  Oh,"  his  eyes  falling 
upon  Frances,  "  excuse  me.  I'll  get  my  coat." 

The  woman  laughed.  "  Ain't  Walt  funny,  though  ? 
He's  got  such  manners  as  never  was.  I  tell  you  what, 
I  like  it,  just  the  same.  Say — 

But  before  she  could  finish  her  sentence  Garvin  had 
reappeared.  He  drew  a  chair  near  to  Frances  and  sat 
down.  His  manner  was  quiet  and  simple,  and  struck 
her  favourably. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Garvin.  I  have  recently  come  to  live  in 
Zenith.  I  am  a  missionary,  you  know,  and  I  want  a 
cabin  of  my  own.  It  isn't  convenient  for  me  to  live  at  the 
Thorn  House  any  longer." 

"  No,  I  can  easily  understand  that,"  he  said  thought-' 

30 


CHAPTER    THREE 

fully.  His  deep  eyes  had  gazed  at  her  steadily  while 
she  had  been  speaking.  "  Let  me  see.  There's  a  little 
two-room  cabin  upon  a  ledge  of  rock  on  Corona.  It's  a 
kind  of  lonely  place  for  you,  though." 

"  Oh,  I'm  never  lonely,"  she  reassured  him  with  a 
smile.  "  Never." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  give  you  the  key  and  you  can  go 
up  and  look  over  it  when  you  have  time.  I  will  be  glad  to 
have  someone  occupying  it." 

He  left  the  room  to  get  the  proffered  key,  and 
Frances  stood  up,  ready  to  go  upon  his  return;  but 
Lutie  was  gazing  at  her  with  a  kind  of  eager  excite 
ment. 

"  Oh,  don't  go ! "  she  cried,  and  there  was  a  real 
earnestness  in  the  petulant  pleading  of  her  voice.  "  Do 
stay  and  talk  to  me  a  while."  She  flicked  a  pile  of  fashion 
magazines  and  catalogues  on  the  table  before  her. 
"  Look,"  pointing  to  a  heap  of  clippings,  "  I've  been 
cutting  out  those  for  hours  and  hours — pictures,  you 
know,  of  the  latest  gowns  and  hats  and  wraps  and  things. 
Here's  a  hat  I'm  going  to  send  for.  Say,  Walt,  I  wish 
you'd  write  for  this  to-night."  Garvin  had  entered  while 
she  had  been  talking,  handed  Frances  the  key,  and  dis 
appeared  again.  "  Oh,"  went  on  Lutie,  glancing  be 
hind  her,  "  he's  gone.  I  don't  care,  I'm  tired  of  'em, 
anyway.  I'm  tired  of  everything."  Her  haggard  gaze 
hung  on  the  missionary.  "  Dead  tired.  Walt's  going  to 
take  me  on  a  trip  as  soon  as  I'm  well  enough  to  travel. 
The  doctor  says  I'll  be  worse  if  I  leave  this  dry  air ;  but 
I  know  I'll  be  worse  if  I  stay  here  in  this  dead  old  hole." 

31 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

She  had  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  and  now  she  studied 
the  quiet  figure  of  the  missionary  through  her  half- 
closed  eyes  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  lifted  her  chin 
with  a  sort  of  defiant  bravado. 

"  I  s'pose  you  think  I'm  something  perfectly  awful, 
don't  you,  because  Walt  and  I  aren't  married  ?  " 

Frances  shrank  a  little.  She  was  not  prepared  for 
these  intimate  revelations.  Her  face  flushed  deeply. 

"  I— I  didn't  know  that " 

"  We  weren't  ? "  finished  Lutie,  with  a  hard  little 
laugh.  "Well,  we're  not.  How  on  earth  could  we  be? 
I'm  all  tangled  up  with  husbands,"  shrugging  her  thin 
shoulders  impatiently.  "  I've  got  three  of  them  around 
somewhere." 

"  But  you're  so  young,"  cried  the  missionary,  sur 
prised  into  the  exclamation. 

"  Twenty-five.  I  began  young,  you  see,"  with  another 
of  her  mirthless  laughs.  "  But,"  sitting  upright  and 
speaking  emphatically,  her  frail  figure  dilating  with 
pride,  "  nobody  needn't  make  any  mistake  about  one 
thing.  Walt  would  marry  me  like  a  shot,  just  like  a 
shot,  if  he  could.  Oh,  the  law's  an  awful  stupid  thing. 
It  makes  me  tired."  Her  head  drooped.  "  Say,"  with 
sudden  animation,  "  I  tell  you  what.  You  want  to  see 
Angel.  Wa — a — It !  say,  Walt !  "  as  he  answered  the 
summons,  "  tell  one  of  those  Chinamen  to  chase  Angel  in 
here.  I  want  the  lady  to  see  her."  Then  to  Frances. 
"  Are  you  going  to  have  Sunday  school  ?  Good !  " — in 
answer  to  an  affirmative  reply.  "  You  bet  she'll  go.  She 
needs  it  bad  enough." 

32 


CHAPTER     THREE 

"  Say,"  warmly,  her  feverish  vivacity  continuing,  "  I 
believe  you're  a  good  sort.  Ethel  said  you  were;  but  I 
don't  pay  much  attention  to  what  she  says.  She  splashes 
her  religion  around  so.  It's  like  my  canary  bird  there 
taking  a  bath.  Wait,"  holding  up  her  hand  and  listen 
ing.  "  Here's  Angel." 

There  was  a  patter  of  feet  without,  a  little  voice 
asking  questions,  and  a  child  ran  into  the  room,  a  girl 
of  about  six  years.  Her  expensive  and  elaborate  frock 
was  stained  with  clay  and  wet  to  the  waist,  the  sleeve 
was  hanging  in  ribbons  from  one  deeply  scratched  little 
arm.  Her  feet  and  legs  were  bare  and  scarlet.  She 
stopped  halfway  in  the  room  and  stood  still,  gazing  at 
Frances  Benson,  and  under  the  regard  of  those  baby 
eyes  the  missionary  felt  a  shock  and  a  thrill.  An  emo 
tion  she  could  hardly  have  defined  as  either  awe  or 
wonder  swept  over  her,  and  yet  it  seemed  compounded 
of  both;  for  here  was  a  personality. 

The  eyes  regarding  her  so  steadily  were  of  a  clear 
grey,  with  cold  blue  lights  like  one  of  the  icy  mountain 
brooks  in  sunlight  and  in  shadow.  The  head  was  covered 
with  tossed,  brown  curls  and  the  face  was  a  lovely  little 
mask. 

Caught  under  one  arm,  but  held  closely  to  her  side, 
was  an  enormous  striped  cat,  apparently  the  victor  of 
many  hard-fought  battles,  if  one  could  judge  from  the 
number  of  scars  it  carried.  One  ear  was  half  torn  away, 
and  across  its  particularly  evil  and  sinister  face  was  a 
broad  white  welt  where  the  fur  refused  to  grow.  Its 
eyes  glowered  with  a  fierce  and  baleful  light. 

33 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

"  Oh,  Angel,"  wailed  her  mother,  "  don't  let  that 
beast  loose.  What  did  you  mean  by  bringing  him  in 
here?  He's  half  a  coon  cat,  and  likely  to  tear  our  eyes 
out." 

"What's  his  name,  dear?"  asked  Frances,  although 
shrinking  slightly  from  him  herself. 

"  Lambie,"  replied  the  child  gravely. 

Her  mother  burst  into  her  little  hysterical,  shrill 
laugh.  "  He  looks  like  a  lamb,  don't  he?  " 

"  He  catches  rabbits  and  chipmunks,"  said  the  child, 
"  wif  these."  She  pressed  one  of  the  cat's  paws  until 
his  long,  curving  claws  shot  out,  "  and  wif  these." 
She  pushed  back  his  lip,  disclosing  the  pointed,  carniv 
orous  teeth.  The  animal,  resenting  such  treatment, 
snarled  and  struggled  to  be  free.  Angel,  holding  him 
fast,  laughed,  and  Frances,  hearing  that  cold,  gay,  ir 
responsible  ripple,  thought  again  of  mountain  streams. 
Lambie,  however,  continued  to  snarl  and  struggle. 

"  Shut  up !  "  said  Angel,  rapping  him  smartly  over 
the  head,  "  shut  up,  or  I'll  break  your  damn  neck." 

"  Oh,  Angel,  how  you  talk ! "  expostulated  Lutie. 
"  And  you're  in  your  bare  feet  again.  We  can't  keep 
shoes  and  stockings  on  her,  even  in  winter,"  she  com 
plained.  "  And  look  at  your  new  dress !  That  dress 
cost  fifty  dollars.  Now  what's  happened  to  your 
arm?" 

Angel  looked  indifferently  at  the  torn  little  arm 
where  the  blood  had  scarcely  dried.  "  Lambie  scatched 
it,"  she  explained  to  Frances.  "  He  catched  a  rabbit,  a 
live  one.  It  was  pretty,  and  I  wanted  it;  so  we  fighted 

34 


CHAPTER    THREE 

for  it.  I  got  it."  She  caught  the  cat  up  and  held  it  as 
if  it  were  a  baby,  looking  triumphantly  down  into  its 
blinking,  evil  eyes. 

"  Isn't  she  awful  ?  "  mourned  Lutie.  "  Do  put  the 
beast  out,  Angel." 

The  child  walked  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  threw 
Lambie  out  unceremoniously. 

"Won't  you  shake  hands  with  me?"  asked  Frances, 
rising  to  go  and  extending  her  hand. 

But  Angel  made  no  response. 

"  She  won't  touch  anybody,"  said  her  mother.  "  She'll 
hug  her  animals  all  day,  but  she  won't  even  kiss  Walt 
or  me,  and  Walt  would  be  awful  fond  of  her  if  she'd  let 
him.  She  ain't  his,  you  know.  My  second  husband  was 
her  father.  Sometimes  I  kiss  her  when  she's  asleep; 
that's  the  only  chance  I  get,  and  then  you  should  see 
her  toss  and  frown." 

Frances  looked  down  at  the  beautiful,  unsmiling  little 
face. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  rabbit  Lambie  caught  ?  " 
she  asked  curiously. 

"  I  let  him  go,"  said  Angel  laconically.  "  I  get  him 
again  if  I  wants  him." 

"  She  will,  too,"  affirmed  Lutie.  "  Oh,  she's  awful 
queer.  Say,  Miss  Benson,  won't  you  come  and  see  me 
again?  I  get  so  darned  lonesome  I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  Ethel  comes  sometimes,  and  Mis'  Nitschkan  drops 
in  every  once  in  a  while.  I  like  that  old  pirate.  She 
makes  me  laugh ;  and  Landvetter,  she  brings  her  knit 
ting  once  in  so  often ;  but  Mis'  Evans,  never !  Not  she. 

35 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

She's  awful  proud,  you  know,  and  I  don't  sport  no  gay, 
gold  wedding  ring ;  but  you'll  come,  won't  you  ?  " 

Her  voice  had  grown  so  weak  that  it  was  almost  in 
audible;  the  colour  had  risen  on  her  cheeks,  and  she 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  chest  as  if  the  mere  effort  to 
breathe  distressed  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Frances,  filled  with  compassion ;  "  yes, 
I'll  come  whenever  you  want  me.  Good-night." 


36 


CHAPTER!  FOUR 

1  T  did  not  take  Frances  long  to  come  to  a  decision 
about  the  cabin  on  Corona.  The  day  after  her  call  on 
Mr.  Garvin  she  formally  leased  it,  with  the  intention 
of  taking  possession  at  once;  but  her  plans  were,  if  not 
frustrated,  delayed  for  a  short  time,  by  the  not  unex 
pected  death  of  Mrs.  Thomas's  husband,  who,  after  a 
winter's  struggle  with  miner's  consumption,  had  finally 
yielded  to  his  stronger  adversary. 

For  a  few  days,  at  any  rate,  Frances  found  every 
moment  of  her  time  occupied  in  consoling  the  widow 
and  attending  to  the  details  of  the  elaborate  funeral 
which  Mrs.  Thomas  and  Zenith  regarded  as  the  due 
of  the  man  who  had  been  so  considerate  as  to  leave  his 
widow  "  property." 

It  was  therefore  a  week  or  two  later  before  the  mis 
sionary  could  regard  herself  as  finally  settled.  Her 
cabin  was  about  half  a  mile  above  the  village  on  the 
mountain  side,  with  a  ledge  of  protecting  rock  above 
the  roof.  It  consisted  of  but  two  rooms ;  but  no  mistress 
of  an  ancestral  domain  had  ever  felt  more  pride  and  joy 
in  her  possessions  than  Frances  experienced  when 
her  simple  preparations  for  housekeeping  were  con 
cluded. 

She  had  always  lived  in  a  "  room,"  and  this  was  a 
home.  Garvin  had  had  the  walls  freshly  whitewashed, 

37 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

and  she  had  driven  ten  miles  over  the  mountains  to  Mount 
Tabor,  a  neighbouring  and  larger  village,  and  selected 
her  simple  furnishings.  In  one  room  was  her  narrow 
bed,  a  chest  of  drawers,  a  table  with  her  few  books, 
and  a  chair  or  two.  The  other  room,  into  which  the  outer 
door  opened,  contained  her  little  cooking  stove;  behind 
it  shelves  ran  up  to  the  ceiling;  on  these  gleamed  her 
few  and  dainty  cooking  utensils  and  dishes.  There  was 
still  room  for  three  or  four  chairs  and  the  small  dining 
table  with  its  trimmed  lamp  in  the  centre,  her  workbox 
and  one  or  two  books  and  papers.  It  was  all  so  plain,  so 
simple,  and  withal  expressed  such  satisfying  and  ex 
quisite  neatness,  that  it  held  the  gracious  charm  of 
order  and  repose. 

Frances  stood  on  a  chair  before  the  window  adjust 
ing  the  new  swiss  curtains  she  had  just  completed. 
Finishing  her  task,  she  jumped  down  and  stepped  back 
the  better  to  view  the  result,  her  face  dimpling  with 
pleasure  and  her  eyes  full  of  an  almost  girlish  joy.  A 
home  at  last — her  home ;  and  her  world  without,  a  won 
derful  new  world! 

She  threw  open  the  door  and  stood  on  the  threshold. 
It  was  early,  early  spring.  Over  there,  across  the  road, 
patches  of  snow  still  lingered  among  the  trees;  but  on 
the  high  branches  there  was  the  faint  tracery  of  delicate 
green  tassels.  About  ten  feet  from  her  door  the  earth 
broke  sharply  away  into  a  deep,  rocky  gulch.  A  little 
bridge  spanned  this,  and  a  mountain  brook  rippled  and 
gurgled  over  the  rocks  eternally.  It  soothed  her  to  sleep 
at  night,  and  she  awoke  each  morning  to  its  fresh,  pure 

38 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

music.  Between  a  break  in  the  trees  she  could  see  the 
tip  of  a  snowy  peak. 

Oh,  splendid  hills  of  strength !  She  drew  a  long  breath 
of  content.  She  was  settled  here.  She  had  won  the 
respect  of  the  people:  her  face  drooped  a  little  at  the 
remembrance  of  her  methods.  Ah,  well, — resolutely  put 
ting  that  from  her, — she  meant  to  win  their  love  also. 

A  shout  aroused  her  from  her  musings,  and  she  looked 
up  to  see  old  Alexander  Herries  coming  across  the 
bridge.  He  had  been  of  real  assistance  in  helping  her  to 
arrange  her  few  possessions,  and  now  she  welcomed  him 
with  a  smile  of  pleasure. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Herries ! "  she  cried.  "  I'm  all 
settled.  I've  got  a  home  at  last.  Come  in." 

She  made  him  sit  down  in  the  easy  chair,  and  pointed 
out  the  completeness  of  her  arrangements,  listening  with 
a  smile  and  a  blush  while  he  admired  the  results  to 
which  he  had  contributed. 

"  The  chimney  draws  well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Perfectly.  And  have  you  been  down  to  the  village 
so  early  ?  " 

"  I  have.  I  needed  some  coffee  and  sugar.  In  the  store 
I  heard  the  usual  gossip,  and  more,  aye,  and  more." 
He  leaned  forward,  and  she  shrank  back  a  little  from 
the  eager  malice  of  his  expression.  "  'Tis  something 
new  to-day.  Sile  Evans  and  his  wife  have  quarrelled 
and  parted.  He's  taken  the  Beebee  cabin,  the  first  above 
the  mine." 

"  Mr.  Evans  and  his  wife !  "  she  repeated.  "  What  a 
pity!  Why,  they  have  three  or  four  little  children." 

39 


"  Sure.  I  am  surprised,"  he  owned,  wagging  his  jaw. 
"  I  thought  she  had  succeeded  in  clipping  his  claws  and 
pulling  his  teeth.  There  must  have  been  one  or  two  left, 
though,  and  he  balked  at  losing  them."  He  laughed, 
and  his  mirth,  as  always,  struck  unpleasantly  on  her 
ear.  It  was  so  discordantly  bitter.  "  But,"  noting  her 
grave  face,  "  I  got  something  else  beside  gossip  at  the 
store.  Here," — he  drew  a  small  whistle  from  his  pocket, 
— "  when  'tis  any  bit  of  mending  or  tinkering  you'll 
be  wanting  done,  ye  can  just  let  me  know.  Sound  on 
that,  and  I'll  be  with  you  in  five  minutes." 

Touched  by  his  kindness,  she  reproached  herself  for 
the  harsh  judgment  of  him  of  a  moment  before,  and 
thanked  him  warmly. 

"  'Tis  unnecessary,"  he  said,  although  well  pleased 
at  her  evidence  of  gratitude,  "  and  thanks  take  up  good 
time.  I'll  be  going  soon,  for  you're  to  have  a  visitor. 
I  heard  the  Widow  Thomas  telling  some  of  her  friends 
in  the  store  that  she  meant  to  pay  you  a  call  this  morn 
ing.  The  widow ! "  his  mouth  twisting.  "  She'll  be  a 
widow  about  two  months." 

"  She's  very  handsome,"  said  Frances. 

"  When  you  get  to  know  her,  you'll  find  her  every 
variety  of  the  feminine  fool,"  he  replied,  with  his  cus 
tomary  scornful  emphasis. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Herries ! "  she  remonstrated,  distress  in 
her  eyes ;  "  you  are  very  severe." 

"  I'm  honest,  ye  mean.  Bah !  'Tis  a  world  of  lies ! " 
He  stared  moodily  at  the  ground,  working  his  jaw. 
When  he  looked  up  his  face  had  softened.  "  Well,  I 

40 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

heard  you  met  little  Angel.  Now,  let  me  tell  you,  there's 
somebody.  Aye,  a  wonderful  child ! " 

"You  like  strange  people,  don't  you,  Mr.  Herries? 
I  have  heard  you  mention  almost  everyone  in  Zenith, 
and  you  have  only  spoken  a  good  word  for  two — Angel 
and  Mr.  Campbell." 

"  Humph !  And  why  do  you  think  that  is  so  ?  "  lift 
ing  his  head  and  fixing  her  with  his  piercing  gaze.  "  Be 
cause  they  are  no  shams.  They  live  and  act  from  within. 
They  are  natural.  Why,  did  ye  know  " — with  a  touch 
of  pride — "  that  I  am  the  only  person  in  Zenith  that 
little  Angel  will  have  anything  to  do  with?  She  and  I 
wander  over  the  hills  all  day  sometimes.  She  won't  have 
Campbell  about,"  with  a  chuckle.  "  Her  mother  says 
she's  to  go  to  Sunday  school."  He  gave  a  great  laugh. 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  "  asked  Frances  coldly.  "  I  cer 
tainly  think  from  what  I  saw  of  the  child,  and  the  way 
I  heard  her  talk,  that  it  will  be  the  best  thing  for  her." 

"You  do?"  turning  his  head  sidewise  and  looking 
at  her  attentively.  "  Do  you  understand  Angel  at  all, 
I  wonder." 

"Understand  her!"  She  looked  puzzled.  "No," 
slowly,  "  I  don't  think  I  do." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  think,"  he  answered  bluntly. 
"  You  do  not ;  and  never  will.  She  is  outside  of  you." 

Frances  pondered  this  statement  for  a  time  in  silence. 
"  Mr.  Herries,"  she  said  at  last,  and  with  apparent  ir 
relevance,  "  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Why  have 
you  been  so  kind  and  helpful  to  me?  You  do  not  care 
for  religion,  nor  for  the  work  I  am  here  to  do.  I  have 

41 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

thought  sometimes  that  it  was  only  because  I  succeeded 
in  gaining  ascendency  over  a  group  of  women  whom  you 
detest.  That  I  gained  the  ascendency  is  true ;  but  it  was 
by  methods  I  am  ashamed  of." 

"  Humph ! "  he  scoffed.  "  I  care  nothing  for  your 
methods.  I  like  force,  character,  whether  scrupulous  or 
unscrupulous;  but  if  you'll  have  the  truth,  take  it. 
Your  principal  recommendation  is  that  you're  neither 
a  coward  nor  a  liar.  I  hate  'em  both.  Ah-h-h !  "  holding 
up  his  hand  as  she  was  about  to  interrupt  him.  "  May 
be  you've  told  a  lie  now  and  then — few  of  us  haven't; 
what  of  that?  It's  that  in  your  nature,  to  the  very 
marrow  of  your  bones ;  you're  true.  But," — his  face 
lighting  with  queer,  malicious  glee, — "  you're  narrow, 
just  the  same.  There's  two  or  three  of  us  in  Zenith  that 
ye'll  never  understand,  and  one  of  'em's  little  Angel. 
Listen ! "  his  quick  ear  catching  the  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  bridge,  "  here's  the  Widow." 

There  was  a  hesitating  knock,  and  Frances  opened 
the  door  to  admit  the  tall  figure  of  Mrs.  Thomas,  clad 
all  in  new  and  becoming  black.  On  seeing  Mr.  Herries, 
she  hesitated  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  and  then, 
modestly  lowering  her  eyelids  and  letting  her  mouth 
assume  a  more  decided  droop,  she  entered. 

Adjusting  her  new  crape  veil  over  the  back  of  her 
chair,  she  sat  smoothing  her  gloves,  equally  new,  and 
sighing  heavily  from  time  to  time. 

"  It's  most  the  first  time  I  been  in  anyone's  house," 
she  said,  addressing  Herries,  who  had  risen  to  go  upon 
her  entrance,  "  an'  it's  awful  hard."  She  shook  her  head 

43 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

slightly  from  side  to  side,  and  fluttered  her  broad  white 
eyelids  at  him.  "  But  don't  let  me  frighten  you  off,  Mr. 
Herries.  I  couldn't  'a'  passed  that  door  if  there'd  been 
anybody  else  but  you." 

But  Herries,  unheeding  this  flattering  remark,  and 
with  one  sardonic  glance  at  the  missionary,  quickly 
departed,  and  Mrs.  Thomas,  in  spite  of  her  anxiety  to 
maintain  what  she  considered  the  proper  deportment  of 
one  so  recently  bereaved,  was  incapable  of  long  con 
cealing  the  important  object  of  her  visit. 

"  Say,  Missioner,  what  do  you  think ! "  she  cried  ex 
citedly,  not  only  casting  aside  those  trappings  of  woe, — 
her  handkerchief  and  her  gloves, — but  also  her  expres 
sion  of  profound  grief.  "  The  girls  sent  me  to  tell  you 
something.  They  felt  it  might  kind  o'  take  my  mind 
off  things,  so  I  come  to  say  that  you  been  elected  to 
the  Ladies'  Aid  Society." 

Frances's  mind  reverted  to  Herries's  words :  "  One  of 
the  kitchens  in  hell  where  considerable  broth  is  brewed." 

"  The  Ladies'  Aid  Society !  "  she  repeated  dubiously. 

"  My  land,  yes ! "  cried  Mrs.  Thomas,  aghast  at  this 
lack  of  enthusiasm.  "  I  guess  you  don't  quite  know 
about  it.  Well,  you  ain't  nobody  in  Zenith  unless  you're 
in  it,  and  it's  awful  hard  to  get  in,  I  can  tell  you.  We 
kept  Ethel  waiting  three  months,  an'  we  ain't  never  let 
Mis'  Garvin  through  yet." 

Truth  to  say,  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society  was  so  impor 
tant  a  factor  in  the  life  of  Zenith,  that  it  is  deserving 
a  word  or  two  of  explanation. 

As  the  centres  of  culture  have  their  woman's  clubs, 

43 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

their  Lenten  lectures,  classes  in  this  or  that,  morning 
bridge,  matinees,  and  afternoon  teas,  so  Zenith  included 
and  combined  them  all  in  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society, 
obliterating  the  boundaries  separating  these  various 
manifestations  of  the  eternal  feminine,  but  retaining 
the  spirit  of  each. 

A  narrow  interpretation  of  the  name  and  purpose  of 
the  organisation  might  seem  to  limit  its  activities  to 
the  worthy,  if  uninteresting,  altruism  of  the  good 
Samaritan ;  but  to  the  initiated  this  would  appear  as  the 
unimaginative,  uninspired  reading  of  a  purist  in  phras 
ing.  Although  ostensibly  what  its  name  proclaimed,  the 
Society  was  also  a  forum  for  the  discussion  of  events 
of  the  hour  and  a  foyer  for  the  display  of  fashions.  It 
served  not  only  as  a  weekly  excuse  for  such  feathers 
and  furbelows  as  Zenith  could  muster;  it  was  also  an 
exchange  for  borrowing  and  lending,  for  "  news  and 
pottage,"  the  gossip  of  the  bazaar;  and  this  was  but 
the  half,  for  the  keen  edge  of  interest  was  constantly 
whetted  by  its  politics,  its  cabals,  its  intrigues,  which 
not  infrequently  flamed  into  swift  debate  and  impas 
sioned  and  acrimonious  oratory. 

Reduced  to  its  last  analysis,  the  Aid  Society  was 
easily  symbolised  as  the  feminine  brain  of  Zenith,  pas 
sionately  protected  from  the  rough,  disintegrating 
touch  of  man,  who  for  some  reason  regarded  it  as  a 
menace  to  his  material  comfort  and  mental  supremacy, 
and  ever  sought  to  dissolve  it. 

But  perhaps  its  meaning,  its  hold  upon  the  affections, 
and  its  place  in  the  life  of  Zenith  are  more  clearly 

44 


presented  in  the  words  of  Mrs.  Thomas,  than  by  any 
contradictory  and  halting  descriptions. 

"  How'd  ever  us  poor  women  bear  our  lives  without 
the  Aid  Society?"  she  asked  Frances  indignantly.  "It 
gives  us  somethin'  to  dress  up  for,  once  a  week,  an' 
somethin'  to  sharpen  our  wits  on  an'  loosen  our  tongues 
over,  at  the  same  time.  Besides,  we're  a-doin'  for  the 
heathen  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  an'  the  poor 
that's  always  with  you — when  you  don't  set  the  dog  on 
'em." 

She  sighed  virtuously,  and  again  smoothed  her  black 
gloves  on  her  knee. 

"  An'  now  that  you're  one  of  us,  Missioner,  Mis' 
Nitschkan  an'  Mis'  Landvetter  'n'  me  thought  you'd  like 
to  come  with  us  this  morning  to  pay  a  call  on  Mis' 
Evans.  You  know  she's  separated,  either  temporary  or 
permanent,  from  Sile,  an'  she  likes  things  done  very 
formal,  so  us  girls  are  sort  of  goin'  in  a  body  to  show 
we  stand  by  her." 

Even  Frances  Benson,  assenting  and  pinning  on  her 
hat  before  her  small  mirror,  little  realised  how  sweeping 
was  her  victory,  a  victory  of  fear,  perhaps ;  but  never 
theless,  very  complete. 

"  This  is  sure  nice,"  cooed  Mrs.  Thomas,  tucking  her 
arm  comfortably  under  that  of  her  companion  as  they 
walked  over  the  bridge  and  down  the  road.  "  You  been 
a  true  friend  to  me  in  my  trouble,  and  I  ain't  going  to 
forget  it." 

"  I'm  sorry  about  Mrs.  Evans,"  murmured  Frances. 

"  Aw,  men  are  the  deuce,  ain't  they?  "  advanced  Mrs. 

45 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

Thomas  philosophically.  "  Best  let  'em  alone,  if  you 
can,  only  that  ain't  so  easy.  And  yet,"  generously, 
"  they're  sort  o'  nice,  too.  Gentlemen  have  always  been 
very  kind  to  me,  'ceptin'  poor  Seth,  of  course;  but 
then,  you  can't  hardly  call  husbands  '  gentlemen,'  can 
you?" 

Gaining  the  village,  the  ladies  paused  to  pick  up  Mrs. 
Nitschkan  and  Mrs.  Landvetter,  and  the  four,  in  a  some 
what  cocky-locky,  and  goosey-poosey  procession,  set 
out  for  the  home  of  Silas  Evans,  now  in  possession  of 
his  wife  and  four  children. 

It  was  one  of  the  trimmest  and  best  cared  for  in  the 
village,  with  none  of  the  laissez-aller,  the  indifference  to 
its  blue  china,  which  characterised  most  of  the  houses 
in  Zenith,  whose  owners  apparently  were  quite  content 
to  live  down  to  the  tin  cans  and  entangling  wires  about 
the  doorsteps,  undisturbed  by  any  aesthetic  yearnings 
toward  blue  pottery. 

However,  the  front  yard  but  presaged  the  immaculate 
order  maintained  within  the  house.  Adhering  to  the  un 
written  laws  prescribed  by  Mrs.  Evans's  precise  for 
mality,  her  guests  never  permitted  themselves  the  luxury 
of  following  their  vagrant  impulses  and  running  in  at 
the  back  door.  They  habitually  knocked  upon  the  front 
door,  and  were  admitted  into  a  dining-room  spotless 
and  shining,  the  floor  covered  with  a  bright  rag  carpet, 
the  stove  ever  polished  and  black.  Upon  the  walls  were 
worked  texts  and  framed  photographs,  while  the  win 
dow  was  gay  with  blooming  plants,  geraniums,  por- 
tulaca,  German  ivy,  and  begonia. 

46 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

In  these  pleasant  surroundings  sat  the  mistress  of  the 
house  in  a  fresh  calico  gown  and  a  white  collar.  Her 
flying  moments  were  never  wasted,  and  she  was  now 
busily  occupied  in  cutting  down  the  garments  of  her 
elder  daughter  Eolanthe,  to  fit  the  younger,  Celora. 

At  the  first  knock  heralding  the  arrival  of  her  four 
visitors,  she  sprang  forward  and  opened  the  door. 

"  Good-morning,  Nitschkan !  "  she  cried  hospitably, 
as  that  masculine  and  breezy  lady  of  the  mountains 
entered.  "  How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Able  to  set  up  and  take  my  beef  tea,"  chuckled 
Mrs.  Nitschkan.  "  Let  the  door  ajar,  here  comes  the 
other  girls." 

"  Come  right  in,  ladies,"  called  their  hostess  heartily. 
"  I  hope  you  brought  your  sewing  with  you.  Missioner, 
this  is  an  honour.  Take  this  rocker." 

"  Sewin'!  Well,  just  'cause  I  hate  it  more'n  pizen,  I 
got  some  to  do,  worse  luck,"  responded  Mrs.  Nitschkan. 
"  The  last  time  we  was  sewin'  on  those  duds  for  worse 
heathen  than  ourselves,  the  Bishop,  he  says  to  me,  'Don't 
look  so  down  in  the  mouth,  Mis'  Nitschkan,  you're  doin' 
the  Lord's  work.'  '  Well,'  I  says,  *  I  ain't  so  sure  of 
it.  If  it's  the  Lord's  work  for  a  woman  to  set  all  day 
an'  stick  a  needle  in  an'  out  of  a  piece  o'  goods,  why,  I'm 
boun'  to  disagree  with  him.'  " 

"You  vas  born  to  disagree,  Nitschkan,"  said  Mrs. 
Landvetter,  from  the  rocking  chair  before  the  stove, 
where  she  had  deposited  her  huge  bulk.  She  was,  as 
usual,  knitting  lace  in  the  elaborate  and  intricate  pat 
tern  she  loved,  counting  the  stitches  as  she  talked. 

47 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

"  One — two — three — four — five.  Yes,  you  vas  born  to 
disagree,  and  den  it's  de  odder  fellow  dat  gets  hurt." 

Mrs.  Nitschkan  laughed. 

"  Well,  las'  Sunday,  when  Missioner,  here,  give  out  in 
church,  *  Thou  shalt  build  up  the  old  waists,'  I  couldn't 
help  givin'  Celia  a  nudge  that  nearly  sent  her  off  the 
seat.  '  That's  my  tex',  all  right,'  I  whispered  to  myself. 
God  knows  it's  what  I've  been  a-doin'  fer  the  last  week. 
My  kids  is  the  crankiest  monkeys  that  ever  was,  in  the 
way  their  clothes  has  to  be  made." 

"  All  kids  is  cranky,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  succinctly. 
"  An'  the  Lord  knows  the  men  is." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  commented  Mrs.  Thomas  de 
voutly.  "  Myrtle  Swanstrom  was  askin'  me  the  other 
day  what  I  thought  of  marriage.  *  It's  a  quick  jump,' 
I  says,  '  from  molasses  to  snake-root.' ' 

"  You  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  that  time,"  responded 
Mrs.  Evans.  "  Mis'  Thomas,  will  you  see  to  the  tea  and 
coffee.  Everything's  ready  on  the  lower  shelf  and  the 
kittle's  boilin'.  Which  will  you  take,  Missioner?  Tea. 
Mis'  Thomas,  make  a  specially  nice  cup  for  Missioner. 
Well,"  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  I  suppose  you've  heard 
about  my  trouble  with  Sile,  girls  ?  " 

Mrs.  Thomas  groaned  as  she  poured  the  coffee  and 
passed  the  cups.  Mrs.  Landvetter  sighed  and  counted 
her  stitches  lugubriously ;  but  Mrs.  Nitschkan  threw 
her  head  back  with  an  habitual,  devil-may-care  ges 
ture: 

"  Gosh  A'mighty !  what  does  that  matter?  "  she  cried. 
"  Dogs  an'  men  is  just  alike.  You  got  to  beat  'em,  an' 

48 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

every  once  in  a  while  drive  'em  off  the  place,  before  you 
get  any  good  out  of  'em." 

"  Well,  I  jus'  got  tired  of  the  way  things  was  goin', 
an'  Sile  an'  me  had  it  out,"  narrated  Mrs.  Evans.  "  I 
told  him  in  the  first  place  to  let  that  cut-throat  lease,  he 
signed,  alone.  Any  fool  miner  in  the  camp  ought  to 
have  known  the  minute  he  put  eyes  on  Brown  and  his 
fox-grin,  that  he  might  as  well  sell  himself  to  the  devil 
as  sign  one  of  his  contracts.  Well,  you  know  what  men 
are,  and  you  know  just  how  easy  one  man  can  get 
around  another,  an'  you  all  know  that  men  ain't  got  no 
more  sense  than  children,  for  all  they're  as  obstinate 
as  mules.  Well,  where  are  we  now?  So  deep  in  debt 
at  the  store  that  I'm  ashamed  to  show  my  face.  But 
what  can  you  expect?  Sile  hadn't  no  bringin'  up  to 
speak  of.  You  all  know  what  his  folks  was.  I  read  him 
the  family  pedigree  good  an'  strong  the  night  we  quit." 

"  What  did  he  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  leaning 
forward  eagerly,  "  hit  you?  " 

"  You  bet  he  didn't.  Hit  a  McKenzie?  Well,  I  guess 
not !  Here,  ladies,  let  me  fill  your  cups  again.  I'll  tell 
you," — pausing  with  uplifted  coffee-pot,  while  the 
frown  deepened  between  her  brows, — "  I  could  'a'  bore 
the  lease,  perhaps,  but  that  sister  of  his, — that  cat  of 
a  Mary  Ellen, — no,  indeed !  " 

"  La !  la !  la !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Landvetter.  "  Und 
how  vas  dat  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  went  clean  over  to  Mount  Tabor  the  other 
day  to  collect  the  rent  from  the  house  my  father  left 
me.  Well,  I  knocked  an'  knocked,  and  at  last  she  come 

49 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

to  the  door.  'Oh!'  says  she,  'Mis'  Evans?'  as  formal 
as  that,  you  see.  '  Won't  you  come  in  ?  '  *  No,  Mary 
Ellen,'  I  says,  '  I  will  not  come  in.  The  door-step's 
good  enough  for  me,  an'  what  I've  got  to  say  is  this: 
"  I  want  my  rent."  She  didn't  say  a  word,  but  kind  o' 
looked  down,  an'  I  went  right  on.  '  Now  look  here, 
Mary  Ellen,'  I  says,  *  right's  right  and  wrong's  wrong. 
You've  always  been  slack  with  your  rent,  and  I've  never 
pressed  you,  as  I  might  another,  seein'  as  you're  Sile's 
sister;  but  my  stock  of  patience  is  about  used  up. 
You've  got  a  house  full  of  lodgers,  an'  every  one  of  'em 
working,  an'  there  ain't  no  reason  why  you  should  hold 
back  the  rent  on  me.' ' 

" '  The  boys  is  havin'  bad  luck,'  she  says,  sort  o' 
sullen. 

"  '  Bad  luck  nothin' ! '  I  says.  '  They've  been  workin' 
in  the  best  payin'  mines  around.  If  they've  had  any  bad 
luck,  it's  playin'  faro.  I'll  tell  you  where  the  money's 
gone,'  I  says.  '  It's  gone  buyin'  pink  organdies  and 
feather  boas.  That's  where  it's  gone.' 

"  *  It's  none  of  your  business  what  I  buy,'  she 
snapped,  '  an'  I'll  pay  your  old  rent  when  I  get  good 
an'  ready,  an'  not  before.  Get  off  my  steps,'  she  says ; 
'  I  scrubbed  'em  fresh  this  morning.' 

"  Well,  girls,  my  blood  boiled ;  but  I  didn't  lose  my 
temper.  I  says  quite  cool,  '  I'll  not  get  off  your  steps 
till  I  choose,  an'  I  may  conclude  to  stay  all  night  an' 
call  the  marshal  an'  have  the  things  moved  out  into  the 
street.' 

"  'Aw,  you  dirty  cat ! '  she  says,  an'  made  a  lunge 

50 


CHAPTER     FOUR 

at  me  an' — an'  did  this  with  her  low-bred  nails.'  "  She 
pointed  to  a  scarlet  line  which  ran  from  her  eye  to  her 
chin,  noticeably,  if  temporarily,  marring  her  good 
looks. 

"  Girls,  you  know  I'm  no  coward ;  but  something  just 
seemed  to  come  over  me, — maybe  it  was  the  words  you 
spoke  in  church  last  Sunday,  Missioner.  *  Don't  put 
yourself  on  a  level  with  this  rent-robbing  creature. 
Don't  forget  you're  a  lady.'  An',  girls,  I  just  turned 
on  that  step,  give  her  one  kick  an'  walked  off." 

"  Well,"  commented  Mrs.  Nitschkan  disappointedly, 
"  we  all  know  you  ain't  no  coward,  but  you'd  better  be 
lieve  I'd  'a'  done  her  up  when  I  had  the  chance.  Still," 
hopefully,  "  there's  more  ways  of  killin'  a  cat  than  by 
chokin'  her  with  butter." 

"  My !  my !  "  muttered  Mrs.  Landvetter ;  "  veil,  you 
can't  neffer  tell." 

"  Say,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Evans  eagerly,  "  is  it  true 
that  Sile's  up  bachin'  on  Corona,  in  old  man  Beebee's 
cabin,  an'  that  he's  gone  to  work  at  the  Mont  d'Or?  " 

"  Yes,"  affirmed  Frances,  since  no  one  else  seemed  to 
know.  "  It  must  be.  I  saw  him  going  to  work  this 
morning.  He — he — doesn't  look  very  happy." 

"  I  hope  he  ain't,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  emphatically. 
"  He  don't  deserve  to  be." 


CHAPTER   FIVE 

gradually  absorbed  Frances  Benson.  As 
the  months  wore  on  the  great  world  beyond  the  blue 
barriers  of  the  mountains  became  merely  a  remembered 
dream  of  unimportant  movements  and  inconsequent 
events ;  and  this  village,  lying  in  a  gash  in  the  hillside 
was,  as  far  as  her  interests  were  concerned,  the  universe. 

The  change  was  so  slow  and  imperceptible  as  to  be 
unsuspected  and  unanalysed  by  herself;  but  gradually 
the  mountain  road  before  her  door  became  to  her  as  one 
of  the  great  highways.  Always  before  she  had  lived  in 
large  cities  where  crowds  meet  and  jostle  and  travel 
hither  and  thither  in  a  series  of  erratic  movements,  their 
progress  as  purposeless  and  aimless  to  the  onlooker  as 
that  of  black  ants  crawling  hurriedly  to  and  fro.  Or, 
to  express  it  as  it  had  appeared  to  her,  a  city  had  seemed 
like  a  page  covered  with  undecipherable  characters ;  but 
here  the  page  was  clear  to  her,  the  meaning  was  plain ; 
she  was  learning  to  read,  and  the  key  to  the  hiero 
glyphics  was  interest.  Her  understanding  had  become 
illumined  through  sympathy. 

Sooner  or  later,  during  the  day  or  week,  this  world 
that  she  was  beginning  to  know  passed  before  her  doors. 
Old  Campbell  trudged  up  the  hill,  his  wire  in  his  hand, 
his  Bible  under  his  arm,  to  seek  the  high  solitudes  his 
spirit  craved  for  the  pondering  of  the  mysteries  and 
the  exercise  of  his  gift. 

52 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

There  pretty  Myrtle  Swanstrom  strolled  with  one  or 
more  of  her  many  admirers ;  Alexander  Herries  passed 
up  and  down  gathering  gossip,  with  Angel  dancing  at 
his  side,  her  evil  cat  tucked  under  one  arm  or  a  puppy 
trotting  on  unstable  legs  at  her  heels.  Sometimes  the 
ladies  of  the  Aid  Society  passed  in  groups  of  two  or 
three,  their  heads  together;  and,  very  lately,  tramping 
down  the  hill  in  the  morning  and  back  again  at  night, 
the  dejected  figure  of  Silas  Evans,  his  dinner  pail 
swinging  listlessly  from  his  hand.  He  was  a  great  raw- 
boned  fellow,  with  a  stoop  to  his  shoulders,  and  an 
honest  kindly  face ;  but  daily  his  tall  form  became  more 
gaunt,  his  shoulders  more  bowed,  and  his  gentle,  con 
fiding  eyes  were  glazed  with  gloom. 

Frances,  who  daily  watched  him  come  and  go,  longed 
to  speak  to  him,  to  lighten  by  word  or  smile  his  deep 
ening  melancholy ;  but  Evans  apparently  never  saw  her 
standing  in  her  cabin  door  or  on  the  little  bridge  over 
the  rushing  stream.  His  mind  held  but  one  picture,  and 
dwelt  upon  it  unceasingly — a  genre  picture  framed  by 
a  window-sash;  three  charming  little  heads  above  a  sill 
of  blooming  plants,  watching  the  road  anxiously  for 
his  home-coming — the  home  denied  him  by  his  own 
action. 

He  lived  over  and  over  again  the  last  scene  between 
his  wife  and  himself.  Things  had  not  been  going  well 
between  them  for  a  long  time;  he  was  disturbed  and 
unhappy  because  of  their  dissensions,  but  his  simple 
mind  had  never  harboured  the  thought  of  a  final  break, 
and  it  had  come  suddenly  like  an  earthquake  shock. 

53 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

With  no  hint  of  the  tempest  brewing,  he  had  come  home 
one  evening  from  his  day's  work  in  the  mines  to  find 
himself  in  the  very  heart  of  the  storm. 

As  usual  upon  his  entrance  to  the  house,  the  children 
had  swarmed  about  him,  and  he,  lifting  the  baby  to  his 
shoulder,  had  glanced  apprehensively  over  its  head  into 
the  kitchen  where  his  wife  stood  busily  occupied  over 
the  stove ;  but  she  had  neither  called  to  him  nor  in  any 
way  noticed  his  arrival,  maintaining  an  aggressive  and 
effectual  unconsciousness  of  his  presence. 

At  last,  her  preliminary  preparations  completed,  she 
came  into  the  dining-room  and  spread  a  stiffly  starched 
cloth  on  the  table,  her  eyes  indifferent,  her  manner  pre 
occupied,  although  Evans  could  not  fail  to  notice  that 
down  one  cheek,  which  was  ostentatiously  held  toward 
him,  ran  a  deep  scarlet  line  like  a  scratch  from  eye  to 
chin.  Then,  slamming  down  a  number  of  dishes,  she 
announced  supper,  shortly  bidding  the  children  take 
their  places.  Save  for  the  clamour  of  the  little  ones, 
the  meal  progressed  in  silence. 

Still  in  silence,  so  far  as  her  husband  was  concerned, 
Mrs.  Evans  cleared  away  the  supper  things  and  sent  the 
children  to  bed.  Then  placing  a  student  lamp  in  the 
centre  of  the  table  and  seating  herself  where  the  light 
fell  strongest  she  sewed  silently  and  energetically,  im 
parting  to  the  room  an  atmosphere  of  storm,  herself  its 
electric  centre,  the  quick  jerk  of  her  arm  and  the  flash 
of  her  needle  in  the  lamplight  giving  the  impression  of 
occasional  lightning. 

She  still  preserved  a  careful  unconsciousness  of  the 

54 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

furtive  and  placating  glances  of  Evans,  who  forlornly 
smoked  his  pipe  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  student 
lamp,  his  feet  stretched  out  to  the  open  grate  stove ;  but 
by  the  token  of  the  cheek  with  the  scar  on  it  being  still 
carefully  turned  toward  him,  it  might  be  inferred  that 
her  abstraction  was  more  a  matter  of  art  than  an  ex 
pression  of  nature. 

Finally,  the  man  blundered,  as  man  ever  must  in  a 
match  game  of  finesse  between  the  sexes,  and  lost  the 
trick. 

After  opening  his  mouth  two  or  three  times  and  shut 
ting  it  again  over  his  pipe,  he  said  in  tones  which  strove 
to  be  full  of  an  off-hand  confidential  interest — sugges 
tive  of  a  camaraderie  extending  even  to  the  heart  of 
the  storm  centre :  "  What's  the  matter  with  your  cheek, 
Effie?  " 

She  snapped  the  thread  viciously,  cast  the  white  mus 
lin  down  on  the  table,  threw  her  scissors  and  thimble 
into  the  heap,  and  faced  about  with  blazing  eyes. 

"  Why,  your  sister  done  it — that's  what's  the 
matter." 

"  Mary  Ellen !  "  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  Mary  Ellen,"  she  mimicked.  "  I  seen  her  last 
week  over  here  to  Zenith,  comin'  in  to  prayer-meeting 
— why  don't  she  go  to  prayer-meeting  in  Mount  Tabor, 
where  she  belongs — in  that  pink  organdie  and  new  grey 
feather  boa,  and  it  made  me  sick.  Do  I  get  any  pink 
organdies  or  grey  feather  boas?  An'  her  livin'  in  the 
house  that  my  father's  money  bought,  an'  never  payin' 
a  cent  of  rent,  an'  us  owin'  at  the  store  like  we  do.  It's 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

more'n  I  can  bear.  When  I  go  to  get  my  meat  an' 
vegetables  in  the  morning  I  got  to  stand  around  an' 
wait  while  Mis'  Thomas,  an'  Mis'  Nitschkan,  an'  Mis' 
Ames  an'  all  the  rest  gets  waited  on — me  that's  always 
held  my  head  up  with  the  best,  an'  had  a  right  to,  too." 

The  storm  had  burst.  The  thunder  that  had  mut 
tered  and  the  lightning  that  had  flashed  on  the  horizon 
were  now  booming  and  striking  all  about  him.  Her 
words  fell  on  him  like  a  shower  of  hail,  stinging,  biting 
into  his  brain. 

He  leaned  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  sank  his  head 
into  his  great  horny  hands. 

"  Aw,  you  can  groan  if  you  want  to,"  cried  the 
woman,  stung  to  frenzy  in  her  tenderest  spot,  her  in 
domitable  pride;  "  but  I've  bore  it  as  long  as  I'm  goin' 
to,  an'  to-day  I  took  the  law  into  my  own  hands.  I 
stopped  at  my  house,  bought  with  my  money,  and 
asked  Mary  Ellen  for  the  rent,  an'  she  wouldn't  give 
me  no  satisfaction,  an'  scratched  my  face  into  the 
bargain." 

Evans's  head  sank  a  little  lower. 

"Was  there  many  around  that  seen  the  scrap?"  he 
asked,  his  eyes  on  the  carpet. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  she  mocked ;  "  there  wasn't  no 
scrap.  Your  sister's  beauty's  safe." 

He  looked  at  her  unbelievingly,  cogitatively,  ques- 
tioningly ;  but  she  refused  to  gratify  his  curiosity. 

"  Of  course  she'd  liked  a  scrap — nothin'  better ;  but 
not  with  me,  not  with  a  McKenzie.  Sile  Evans,"  she 
continued  passionately,  "  you  know  what  your  folks 

56 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

was,  an'  you  know  what  mine  was.  Now,  when  I  got 
some  birth  an'  breedin'  on  my  side,  an'  wasn't  born  no 
poor  rat  like  you  an'  your  sister,  why  don't  you  let  me 
have  some  say  ?  " 

"  I  guess  you've  had  enough  say  for  one  night,"  he 
said  heavily,  rising  to  wind  the  clock.  "  I  guess  I'll  go 
to  bed  now." 

She  threw  herself  before  the  door. 

"  Sile  Evans,  I've  known  from  the  first  that  that  lease 
wasn't  goin'  to  be  no  good,  an'  I  begged  an'  begged 
you  not  to  take  it.  The  first  time  I  put  my  eyes  on  that 
Brown  you  leased  from,  I  knew  what  he  was — shifty- 
faced  fox/  with  his  jaws  smeared  with  butter — but 
nothin'  would  do  but  that  you'd  got  to  sign  up  with 
him.  An'  where  are  you  now  ?  " 

At  her  words,  the  smouldering  spark  in  Silas  Evans's 
eyes  blazed. 

"  Where. am  I  now?  "  he  cried.  "  By  God!  where  am 
I  now?  I've  drove  in  two  hundred  feet,  and  I've  struck 
one  of  the  best  payin'  streaks  in  the  camp.  I  could  be 
making;  two  hundred  dollars,  three  hundred  dollars,  five 

O  7  ' 

hundred  dollars  a  month,  if  the  trammers  wasn't  kept 
busy  in  another  part  of  the  mine.  If  I  could  get  my 
ore  hauled  to  another  mill,  where  the  charges  ain't  so 
high  as  at  the  Company's  mill ;  if  I  didn't  have  to  buy  all 
my  supplies  from  the  Company ;  if  Brown  hadn't  said  so 
easy  when  we  made  the  contract  that  the  roy'lty  would 
run  from  twenty-five  to  fifty  per  cent.,  an'  then  charged 
me  fifty  the  minute  we  struck  the  vein — where  am  I  now, 
you  ask?  Why,  I'd  be  all  right — on  the  top  of  the 

57 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

heap — if  Brown  only  panned  out  one-half  per  cent, 
honest !  I  don't  care  what  you  say,  no  matter  how  you 
put  it,  I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  blame  myself  with.  My 
judgment  was  all  right.  Ain't  the  ore  there?  " 

His  bluster  was  in  reality  a  plea,  not  only  for  the 
justification  of  his  business  acumen,  but  to  retain  that 
intangible  bond  of  a  happy  marriage — the  wife's  re 
spect  for  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Evans,  however,  did  not  soften.  In  her  eyes 
was  the  clear,  implacable  glitter  of  the  woman  whose 
affection  is  measured  largely  by  her  ambition,  and  her 
words  were  the  poisoned  arrows  of  one  who  has  dis 
covered  a  latent  gift  for  sarcasm  and  has  no  intention 
of  wrapping  her  talent  in  a  napkin. 

"Oh,  yes;  your  judgment  was  all  right,"  she  jeered. 
"  Ketch  a  man  ever  sayin'  that  he's  in  the  wrong !  Oh, 
of  course,  it  was  all  right  for  you  to  sign  up  Brown's 
lease;  any  fool  miner  in  the  camp  ought  to  have  known 
the  minute  he  put  eyes  on  Brown  that  he  might  as  well 
sell  himself  to  the  devil  as  sign  one  of  his  contracts.  It 
just  meant  you  were  tying  yourself  up  to  find  ore  for 
Mr.  Brown,  an*  then  when  you  done  your  stint  you 
was  to  be  froze  out." 

The  arrows  poisoned,  the  eyes  stabbed;  but  Evans 
strove  unequally  to  cope  with  her  on  her  own  ground — 
that  of  sarcasm. 

"  Well,  since  you're  so  smart,"  he  demanded,  "  what 
have  you  got  to  suggest  that's  any  better?  I  suppose 
you'd  want  me  to  throw  up  my  lease  to-morrow;  then, 
what  have  I  got  before  me?  A  job  at  day's  wages  an' 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

two  or  three  years  of  debt-payin'.  That  Is,"  a  lump 
rose  in  his  throat,  "  pervided  you  an'  the  kids  don't  get 
sick,  nor  need  no  clothes,  nor  want  nothin'  to  eat 
but  beans  an'  sow-belly.  Aw" — his  voice  breaking — 
"  what's  the  use  of  talkin'?  " 

"  This  use,"  she  replied  defiantly,  "  that  I  told  you, 
an'  I  told  you  true,  that  I've  bore  all  I'm  a-goin'  to! 
I've  begged  an'  I've  plead  with  you  about  that  lease; 
there  ain't  been  a  day  that  I  ain't  begged  you  to  throw 
it  up  an'  go  round  to  the  Mont  d'Or.  Walt  Garvin's 
wantin'  a  foreman  there ;  but  no,  you're  so  set  that  you 
can't  see  no  way  but  your  own.  An'  besides  all  that, 
you  won't  take  no  hand  in  helpin'  me  to  get  my  rent  out 
of  Mary  Ellen,  or  in  puttin'  her  out  of  my  house, 
'cause  she  comes  whinin'  to  you,  makin'  a  poor  mouth 
an'  gettin'  on  your  soft  side,  like  any  woman  that  tells 
her  troubles  to  a  man  can  get  around  him.  It's  the  las' 
straw,  I  tell  you — the  las'  straw! 

"  Now,"  she  announced  determinedly,  "  I'm  a-goin* 
to  take  matters  into  my  own  hands  an'  pervide  for  my 
kids  as  they've  a  right  to  be  pervided  for.  I  don't  care 
whether  it  shames  you  before  the  whole  camp  or 
whether  it  don't." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her.  "What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  he  growled. 

"  I  mean  this :  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  see  everything  go 
to  rack  an'  ruin  as  long  as  I  got  a  shoulder  to  put  to 
the  wheel.  I  seen  old  Johnson  who  drives  the  hack  to 
the  station  and  back  three  times  a  day.  He's  so  crippled 
with  rheumatism  that  he  wants  to  go  an'  live  with  his 

59 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

sister  near  some  springs,  where  he  can  boil  out.  Well, 
I  closed  with  him,  an'  I'm  to  drive  the  passengers  up 
and  down  to  the  station,  after  this."  She  folded  her 
arms  challengingly  upon  her  chest. 

Then  she  saw  fully,  for  the  first  time  perhaps,  the 
slow,  struggling,  mighty  wrath  of  the  gentle.  Like  the 
Biblical  demon,  his  anger  seemed  to  rend  Silas  and  tear 
at  his  throat.  His  hands  clenched,  his  mouth  became 
granite,  his  chest  heaved  convulsively,  his  words  were 
strained  and  hoarse. 

"  If  you  do,"  he  said  at  last,  "  if  you  do,  I  leave  this 
house  and  you  for  good." 

For  a  moment  his  wife  stood  before  him  frightened 
to  her  soul,  white-faced  but  unyielding ;  then :  "  I  sure 
will,"  she  said,  and  left  the  room. 

Throughout  the  long  night  Evans  sat  stiff  and  rigid 
in  a  chair  by  the  table,  gazing  before  him  with  unseeing 
eyes.  He  was  the  victim  of  what  is  known  in  the  ver 
nacular  as  a  cut-throat  lease.  Hard-working,  steady- 
going,  thoroughly  dependable,  a  first-class  miner,  he 
had  held  excellent  positions  until  he  was  overcome  by 
the  dream  that  haunts  every  man — that  of  being  his 
own  master — and  the  longing  that  possesses  every 
miner,  to  lease  some  undeveloped  part  of  a  good  mine 
and  realise  his  bonanza  hopes. 

But  now  his  dream  mocked  him,  his  hopes  deserted 
him,  and  through  the  weary  hours  he  battled  with  his 
Apollyon,  the  dreadful  spectre  of  failure.  When  the 
grey  dawn  broke  through  the  windows  he  was  still 
sitting  at  the  table.  The  lamp  was  low,  now  and  then 

60 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

flaring  uncertainly,  and  the  open  stove  held  only 
the  cold,  dead  ashes  of  last  night's  fire. 

He  arose  to  his  feet,  looking  around  him  dazedly 
for  a  moment,  and  then  his  face  set  as  hard  as  the 
rock  he  mined.  Pausing  only  to  seize  his  hat  and  coat, 
he  strode  from  the  house  without  one  farewell  glance 
behind  him. 

After  a  day  or  two  at  the  Thorn  House,  he  had 
taken  the  one-room  cabin  above  that  of  Frances,  and 
renewed  his  pre-marital  experience  of  "  baching,"  to 
the  intense  excitement  of  the  village. 

Zenith,  it  should  be  said,  never  narrowly  confined 
itself  to  the  proverbial  nine  days'  wonder;  regarding 
such  definitely  proscribed  limitations  as  artificial  and 
effete.  One  topic  was  always  made  to  last  until  the  next 
arose.  To  put  it  vulgarly,  the  art  of  spreading  a 
small  bit  of  butter  over  a  large  slice  of  bread  was  thor 
oughly  understood  and  demonstrated;  and  there  was 
no  flagging  of  interest,  no  haphazard  discussion  of  the 
matter  in  hand,  for  Zenith  fully  grasped  the  artistic 
value  of  a  great  writer's  dictum,  that  there  is  always 
something  new  to  be  said  about  even  a  stone. 

Such  humdrum  topics  as  the  last  accident  in  the 
mines,  the  national  crisis,  or  a  newly  discovered  system 
for  beating  faro  bank  were  dropped  for  the  time,  and 
the  village  joyously  abandoned  itself  to  the  discussion 
of  the  Evans  problem.  Public  opinion  at  first  fluctu 
ated,  wavered,  but  finally  veered  steadily  in  the  direction 
of  Mrs.  Evans,  although,  let  it  be  said,  households 
became  divided  on  the  subject;  but,  nevertheless,  the 

61 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

dejection  of  Evans's  appearance,  his  rough  refusal  to 
discuss  the  subject,  the  seclusion  he  obstinately  main 
tained,  lost  him  the  support  of  the  camp. 

He  had  always  been  a  popular  man  in  the  village, 
one  who  had  unconsciously  commanded  respect,  because 
he  was  steady-going  and  square ;  but  he  had  not  heeded 
the  gratuitous  advice  of  the  legion  who  now  claimed  to 
have  warned  him  against  the  unscrupulous  Brown  and 
his  cut-throat  lease,  and  consequently  he  reaped  the 
somewhat  barren  sympathy  bestowed  upon  the  un 
successful.  This  world's  darlings  are  those  who  openly 
defy  her  and  carry  their  point  by  reckless,  spectacular 
daring;  and  Mrs.  Evans,  without  half  the  personal 
popularity  of  her  husband,  yet  succeeded  in  capturing 
her  audience  by  sheer  pluck  and  bravado. 

Daily,  when  she  drove  to  and  from  the  station, 
women  left  their  washtubs  and  their  baking  to  gather 
over  the  front  gates ;  men  congregated  in  groups  at 
the  Post  Office  or  in  front  of  "  Johnson's  " — the  village 
saloon  and  gambling  house.  Mrs.  Evans,  apparently 
oblivious  to  this  attention,  was  perched  high  up  on  the 
front  seat  of  a  long  three-seated  wagon  drawn  by  two 
strong,  shaggy  horses.  Her  foot  was  on  the  brake  as 
they  clattered  down  the  mountain  road — a  big,  bold 
cliff  on  one  side  and  a  sheer  fall  of  a  thousand  feet  on 
the  other.  Her  attitude  was  nonchalant,  her  expression 
one  of  gay  decision.  Arriving  at  the  station,  she  would 
back  her  horses  up  to  the  platform,  direct  the  men 
lounging  there  how  to  load  the  luggage  on  the  boot  of 
the  vehicle,  point  out  seats  to  the  passengers,  and  then 

62 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

with  a  slap  of  the  lines  on  the  horses'  backs  urge  them 
up  the  two-mile  drive  to  the  village,  conversing  on  the 
topics  of  the  day  and  the  gossip  of  the  mines  as  they 
drove  along. 

It  was  to  be  expected,  then,  that  this  subject  which 
so  completely  absorbed  the  intellectual  faculties  of 
Zenith  should  come  up  for  discussion  one  evening  when 
Andrew  Campbell,  Ethel,  and  Herries  had  gathered  in 
Frances's  cabin. 

The  day  had  been  mild,  but  the  evening  had  grown 
chilly,  and  the  red  coals  shining  through  the  bars  of 
the  stove  diffused  not  only  a  grateful  warmth  through 
the  room,  but  imparted  to  it  a  cosey  brightness. 

The  two  old  men  occupied  respectively  the  arm  and 
the  rocking  chairs  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table,  while 
Ethel,  her  blue  cape  and  bonnet  thrown  aside,  her  fair 
hair  twisted  in  a  loose  knot  on  the  nape  of  her  neck, 
moved  restlessly  about,  her  rapid  speech  and  changing 
face  indicating  the  vivacious  impulses  of  her  emotional 
nature.  Frances  herself,  a  composed  figure,  sat  sew 
ing  in  the  radiance  of  the  lamp-light. 

Herries,  his  head  bent,  was  tinkering  at  a  lamp  which 
Frances  insisted  was  out  of  order. 

"  Did  ye  know  that  Evans  is  sick  of  a  bad  cold?  "  he 
asked,  bringing  forth  his  first  item  from  his  budget  of 
gossip,  as  the  peddler  who  knows  his  business  draws 
forth  the  wares  from  his  pack.  He  unrolls  the  goods 
with  a  quick  jerk,  then  gathers  it  up  in  his  hands,  that 
the  fabric  may  catch  the  light  on  its  surfaces.  His  eyes 
are  upon  yours.  If  you  show  interest,  he  explains,  ca- 

63 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

joles.  If  he  reads  genuine  indifference,  he  shrugs  his 
shoulders  and  produces  a  more  tempting  vanity. 

"  Sick  in  bed,"  Herries  repeated  with  unction. 
"  Fool !  He's  helpless  as  a  baby.  He  can't  *  bach '  any 
more  than  Campbell  here." 

Frances  looked  up  quickly.  "  I  was  wondering  why 
I  had  not  seen  him  for  a  day  or  two.  What  a  pity !  I 
wish,"  wistfully,  "  that  something  could  be  done ;  but 
if  you  try  to  help  in  such  cases  you're  more  likely  to 
blunder  instead,  and  do  more  harm  than  good." 

"  Aye,"  said  Campbell  suddenly,  "  unless  the  Word 
comes,  ye  must  do  nothing.  It  is  hard  to  learn  the 
lesson  to  wait,  wait,  until  we  are  led." 

"  Poor  Evans !  "  Herries  twisted  his  mouth.  "  He's 
so  used  to  being  managed ;  he's  no  idea  how  to  take  care 
of  himself.  He's  been  swaddled  too  long." 

"Ain't  he  got  the  nice,  kind  eyes,  though?"  said 
Ethel,  straightening  her  bowed  figure,  which  had  been 
bent  over  the  stove.  At  the  request  of  Frances,  she  was 
preparing  coffee  and  setting  out  some  little  cakes. 
"Kmd  of  patient,  dumb  eyes,  just  like  a  dog's  that 
gets  a  licking  every  now  and  then." 

Herries  gave  one  of  his  loud,  discordant  peals  of 
laughter.  "  That's  it,"  slapping  his  knee.  "  You  hit 
the  nail  on  the  head  that  time,  Ethel ;  you  hit  the  nail 
on  the  head.  And  if  you'll  notice,  Evans's  kind  always 
marry  the  little,  spitfire  devils  of  women,  who  keep  a 
whip  handy  and  don't  scruple  to  use  it." 

"  Oh,  Mis'  Evans  ain't  so  worse,  now,"  remonstrated 
Ethel  vaguely,  beginning  to  pour  the  strong,  steam- 

64 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

ing  coffee  into  the  cups  on  the  table.  "  Here's  your 
coffee,  Mr.  Campbell — oh !  "  looking  earnestly  at  the 
quaint,  motionless  little  figure  that,  with  cheek  resting 
on  hand,  sat  staring  at  the  fire.  "  Don't  pay  no  atten 
tion  to  him,"  her  voice  hushed  to  tenderness  and  cau 
tion;  "just  let  him  be." 

Herries  laid  his  knife  and  the  various  sections  of  the 
lamp  carefully  on  the  table  and  took  the  cup  of  coffee 
from  her. 

"  Have  ye  heard  that  *  Shock '  O'Brien  has  married 
the  Black  Pearl?  "  he  asked  Ethel,  speaking  with  cas 
ual  indifference,  but  with  a  sly,  avid  glance  from  under 
his  brows,  to  make  sure  that  she  fully  appreciated  the 
importance  of  this  next  bit  of  news.  "  The  boys  thought 
he  must  have  been  drunk  when  he  did  it,  but  Dan  May- 
hew  saw  them  in  Denver  the  other  day  and  he  says  that 
Shock's  plumb  crazy  about  her  and  that  they're  coming 
here  to  live." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Ethel,  with  a  gratifying  inter 
est.  "  My !  I've  heard  of  her  good  and  plenty.  We 
was  talkin'  of  Shock  marryin'  her  over  at  the  Garvins' 
to-day.  Walt  knows  her;  he  says  she's  a  dream,  but 
kind  of  queer-like." 

"  I  bet  Walt  knows  her,"  chuckled  Herries. 

"I  bet,"  agreed  Ethel. 

Struck  by  something  in  their  tones,  the  Missionary 
lifted  her  eyes.  "Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked. 

"I  guess  Walt  knows  most  of  her  kind  in  several 
States,"  Herries  still  chuckled. 

Frances  turned  her  puzzled  gaze  on  Ethel.  "  I 

65 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

shouldn't  wonder,"  nodded  the  girl,  with  indifferent 
placidity. 

"Do  you  mean ?"  asked  the  Missionary. 

"  Oh,  Walt's  easy,  you  know,"  explained  Ethel. 
"  He's  known  everywhere  for  a  kind  of  mark.  Anybody 
can  get  money  out  of  him." 

"  Any  woman,  you  mean,"  corrected  Herries.  "  Men 
haven't  found  it  so  easy." 

Frances  dropped  her  sewing  in  her  lap  and  sat  star 
ing  meditatively  before  her,  the  puzzled  expression 
deepening  in  her  eyes. 

"  Goodness !  You  ought  to  see  the  box  of  things 
Lutie  got  out  from  New  York  this  morning!"  Ethel's 
eyes  dilated,  her  cheek  flushed.  "  Oh,  say,  but  they 
were  great!  There  was  a  white  cloth  cloak  to  wear  in 
the  evening,  she  said — well " — with  one  long  gasp — 
"  it  was  the  grandest  thing  you  ever  saw  in  your  life. 
Why,"  rising  from  her  chair  and  using  her  spoon  to 
indicate  effects,  "  it  reached  clear  to  the  bottom  of  her 
skirt  and  laid  on  the  ground  about  two  inches  behind. 
It  was  made  to  wear  with  a  trail,  you  know,  an'  it  had 
first  a  eight-inch  border  of  Russian  sable,  an'  then  the 
cloth  was  cut  away  an'  it  had  an  insertion  of  lace  set 
in  this  wide  " — measuring  above  her  wrist — "  an'  on 
each  side  of  that,  silver  and  gold  trimming;  an'  the 
sleeves  was  like  great  long  wings.  Then  there  was  a 
hat " 

"  It  has  come."  Andrew  Campbell's  shrunken  figure 
had  straightened,  his  voice  rang  out  deep  and  musical 
and  exultant,  and  Ethel  stopped  short  in  the  full  tide 

66 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

of  her  rapid  speech.  Her  whole  face  changed.  Her 
eyes  became  rapt,  ecstatic,  her  lips  parted,  her  lithe 
figure  bent  forward  as  if  to  listen  the  better.  She  was 
a  neophyte,  awaiting  a  revelation. 

"  I  hae  puzzled  long  over  the  vairse,  '  There  shall  be 
no  more  sea.' "  The  mellow  voice  echoed  through  the 
room,  and  each  word  as  he  spoke  it  seemed  invested 
with  a  new  and  luminous  meaning.  "  I  hae  wondered 
long  about  it,  but  now,  even  now,  as  I  sat  here,  this 
vanished  away,  and  I  found  myself  in  my  ain  country, 
and  Ruth  was  with  me.  Ye  ken,"  turning  to  Frances 
with  gentle  courtesy,  "  that  being  no  longer  in  the 
flesh,  she  has  progressed  greatly,  and  she  said  that 
it  meant  this :  that  the  sea  divides  the  land  and  is  ever 
a  barrier  to  be  crossed,  and  so  it  stands  as  a  sign  of 
separation ;  but,  at  last,  love  shall  blot  it  out  and  there 
shall  be  no  more  parting." 

Ethel  gazed  at  him  with  the  tenderest,  most  awed 
admiration.  "  Ain't  that  grand !  "  with  a  catch  in  her 
voice.  "  You  certainly  are  right  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven,  Mr.  Campbell.  Oh,"  standing  with  upraised 
eyes  and  clasping  her  hands  on  her  heart,  "  I  wisht  we 
was  all  there !  " 

"  I  hae  studied  and  studied  over  it,"  he  repeated 
earnestly,  "  and  waited  for  Ruth ;  but  it  was  long  be 
fore  she  came.  It  is  sometimes  very  long  before  she 
comes,"  with  a  kind  of  patient  pathos.  "  I  tried  also 
to  discuss  it  with  Mrs.  Landvetter,  but,"  shaking  his 
head  pityingly,  "  the  meesteries  are  withheld  from 
her." 

67 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

"  You  bet  they  are,"  grinned  Herries. 

"  It  must  be  the  whole  secret — love,"  murmured  the 
Missionary,  and  in  her  gaze  was  something  of  the  awe 
that  touched  Ethel's  face. 

Campbell  looked  at  her  with  surprise  in  his  strangely 
clear  eyes.  "Must  be?  Is!"  strongly.  "Though  I 
speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of  angels — though 
I  have  all  faith,  so  that  I  could  remove  mountains — 
though  I  give  my  body  to  be  burned "  he  mut 
tered. 

Frances  continued  to  look  at  him,  the  mystic  light 
that  shone  always  in  his  eyes  kindling  in  hers. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do ! "  she  cried.  "  Why 
isn't  the  right  word  given  to  me  to  help  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Evans.  For  the  last  two  Sundays  I've  tried  to  preach 
love  and  forgiveness,  hoping  it  would  melt  their  hearts ; 
but  there  they  both  sat,  like  two  stones,  and  I  knew,  I 
felt,  that  I  was  hardening  them  instead  of  reaching 
them." 

Herries  bent  forward  and  gazed  intently  at  her,  his 
keen  face  outlined  against  the  lamp-light,  the  sweep 
of  white  hair  against  the  high,  narrow  brow,  the  deli 
cately  cut,  aquiline  nose,  the  crooked  mouth  with  the 
scornful  corners — and  Frances,  meeting  his  glance,  felt 
a  swift  and  fleeting  impulse  of  recoil. 

"  Melt  their  hearts ! "  he  scoffed.  He  bent  nearer 
still,  holding  her  with  his  satirical,  piercing  eyes. 
"  Why  don't  you  try  your  woman's  wits  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  The  same  that  you  used  when  you  conquered  the 
hosts  of  the  Egyptians,  as  Campbell  says." 

68 


CHAPTER     FIVE 

She  shrank  back  visibly  now,  and  lifted  one  hand, 
palm  outward,  before  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  don't  remind  me 
of  that ! "  There  was  pain  in  her  voice. 

He  laughed  again.  "Why  not?  What  were  your 
wits  given  you  for  but  to  use.  That's  where  you're 
strong,  when  you  use  the  methods  that  come  natural  to 
you.  You'll  never  learn  to  handle  any  others  properly, 
no  matter  how  hard  you  try.  And  you'll  never  bring 
Evans  and  his  wife  together  by  preaching  love  and 
forgiveness.  Pish ! "  He  twisted  his  mouth  awry.  "  Use 
your  wits ! " 

Frances  sat  late  that  night,  thinking. 


69 


CHAPTER    SIX 

the  next  morning,  long  before  the  sun  had 
begun  to  make  its  tardy  appearance  over  the  peaks, 
Frances,  with  a  little  covered  basket  on  her  arm,  walked 
up  the  hill  to  "  Old  Man  Beebee's  "  cabin,  occupied  at 
the  present  by  Silas  Evans. 

It  was  a  dreary,  unpainted  little  shack,  close  beside 
a  great  slate-coloured  ore-dump  from  one  of  the  mines, 
while  behind  it  stretched  a  steeply  rising  and  desolate 
expanse  of  bare  hillside.  The  Missionary  knocked  two 
or  three  times,  and  finally,  meeting  with  no  response, 
lifted  the  latch  and  entered.  The  cabin  was  cold  and 
still.  As  her  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  dim  light 
which  fell  through  the  small  window,  she  saw  that 
Evans  lay  in  a  profound,  if  restless,  sleep  upon  a  bunk 
in  the  corner,  his  arms  tossed  ab'ove  his  head,  his 
browned  face  a  sickly  clay  colour.  There  was  no  fire  in 
the  broken,  rusty  stove,  no  furniture  save  an  old  chair 
and  a  table  covered  with  a  few  greasy,  battered  cook 
ing  utensils;  the  ceaseless  mountain  wind  whistled 
through  the  cracks  of  the  rough,  board  walls — an  eerie 
continuous  sigh. 

As  noiselessly  as  possible,  Frances  began  to  build  a 
fire;  but  in  spite  of  her  precautions  Evans  roused  and, 
lifting  himself  on  one  elbow,  gazed  at  her  with  dazed 
eyes,  muttering  incoherent  words.  As  he  gradually 

70 


CHAPTER     SIX 

comprehended  her  simple  explanations  of  her  presence 
— she  was  a  neighbour  and  had  heard  that  he  was  ill — 
he  ventured  gruff  and  shamefaced  remonstrance,  and 
would  evidently  have  been  well  pleased  to  have  her 
leave  him ;  but,  unheeding  his  protests,  she  continued  to 
build  the  fire,  tidy  up  the  cabin,  and  prepare  his  break 
fast  in  so  matter-of-fact  a  way,  with  so  few  words,  and 
a  demeanour  of  such  calm  cheerfulness,  that  the 
wretched  and  forlorn  man  was  visibly-  heartened  and 
encouraged.  Gradually  his  nervous  apprehension  that 
she  might  refer  .to  the  difficulty  between  his  wife  and 
himself  wore  away,  and  when  Frances  finally  left  him, 
with  his  breakfast  on  the  chair  by  his  side  and  yester 
day's  newspaper  in  his  hand,  his  dreary  dejection  was 
unmistakably  lightened. 

And  she,  too,  walked  down  the  hill  with  a  pleasant 
sense  of  satisfaction,  almost  of  exhilaration.  The  sun 
had  by  this  time  surmounted  the  peaks  and  shone  in 
the  deep  blue  sky,  the  young  leaves  were  fluttering  in 
the  breeze,  the  blue  jays  and  magpies  flew  from  tree  to 
tree.  And  as  Frances  drew  in  great  draughts  of  the 
delicious  air  there  was  a  fresh  spring  to  her  step  and 
an  almost  gay  light  in  her  eye.  She  sang  a  little  under 
her  breath  as  she  walked. 

But  just  as  she  reached  her  own  door  and  was  some 
what  reluctantly  entering,  she  heard  a  footstep  behind 
her  on  the  little  bridge,  and  turning,  met  Garvin's 
gaze. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Garvin !  You  were  coming  to 
see  me?  Come  in."  She  threw  open  the  door.  "  You 

71 


have  never  seen  my  home  since  I  rented  it  from  you, 
have  you?  " 

He  did  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of  surprise  as 
he  followed  her  across  the  threshold.  "  Why,  I  never 
would  have  known  the  place!  It  don't  look  much  as  it 
did  when  the  boys  *  bached '  here.  Well,  well,  what  a 
woman  can  do !  "  He  looked  about  him  and  then  at  her, 
and  was  struck  by  the  fitness  of  her  surroundings  to 
herself.  He  was  a  man  with  an  instinctive  love  of  order 
and  simplicity,  and  the  things  which  spoke  of  a  disci 
plined  and  ordered  life  appealed  to  him. 

Frances,  divesting  herself  of  her  hat  and  coat,  had 
taken  a  chair  opposite  him,  and  now  waited  to  hear  his 
reasons  for  calling  upon  her,  for  this,  she  felt  intui 
tively,  was  not  the  mere  conventional  visit  of  landlord 
to  tenant;  but  whatever  the  importance  of  his  errand 
might  be,  Garvin  had  apparently  forgotten  it.  He  sat 
gazing  absently,  if  earnestly,  at  the  missionary,  noting 
the  full  sweep  of  her  dark  hair  from  her  brow,  the 
smooth,  shining  braids  at  the  back  of  her  head,  the  neat 
black  gown,  severe  and  devoid  of  ornamentation  as  a 
nun's  robe,  and  the  fresh  white  linen  collar  at  her 
throat. 

He  could  not  understand  his  first  impression  of  her, 
could  not  reconcile  it  with  the  varying  one  of  the 
present.  The  first  night  he  had  seen  her  she  had  struck 
him  as  a  plain,  dark,  insignificant  woman  with  a  pleas 
ing  manner.  Insignificant!  Was  it  possible  that  he  had 
ever  thought  that?  Insignificant!  With  that  poise,  that 
composure,  which  spoke  of  a  perfectly  controlled  nerv- 

72 


CHAPTER     SIX 

ous  energy !  And  what  a  picture  she  made  now !  Gar- 
vin  loved  pictures.  Sitting  there  in  her  black  gown 
in  the  straight  chair,  the  rough,  whitewashed  wall  be 
hind  her,  and  the  open  window  with  the  muslin  cur 
tain  fluttering  in  the  spring  breeze,  the  spring  sun 
shine  flooding  the  velvety  green  leaves  and  the  scarlet 
blossoms  of  the  geraniums  on  the  sill.  There  was  one 
crimson  cluster  just  beyond  the  sweep  of  her  dark 
hair.  He  liked  the  steady  directness  of  her  gaze,  that 
clear,  pale  cheek.  How  nice  a  woman's  face  was  with 
out  paint ! 

"  Well,  Mr.  Garvin  ?  "  She  was  looking  at  him  in 
some  surprise. 

"Oh!"  starting  and  flushing  darkly.  "Oh,  I  beg 
your  pardon — I — I — got  to  thinking.  Miss  Benson,  I 
came  to  speak  to  you  about  Lutie."  The  harassed  lines 
showed  again  upon  his  face.  "  She's  in  a  bad  way,  poor 
girl.  She  had  an  attack  yesterday,  a  more  violent  one 
than  she  has  yet  suffered  from,  and  I  telegraphed  a 
lung  specialist  in  Denver  last  night.  He'll  be  here  this 
morning  at  twelve  and  go  back  on  the  two  o'clock 
train.  I  had  his  answer  a  short  time  ago,"  fingering  a 
yellow  slip  of  paper,  "  and  I  thought  I  would  come  up 
here  before  I  went  home  and  ask  you  if  you  couldn't 
come  in  and  see  her  a  few  minutes  after  he's  gone,  just 
as  if  you'd  happened  to  come  in  of  your  own  accord, 
you  know.  Poor  girl !  "  with  a  sigh.  "  It's  pretty  rough 
on  her.  I'm  hoping  the  doctor  will  think  she  can  be 
moved.  I'd  take  her  away  at  once  then.  You  see,  there's 
so  little  to  amuse  and  interest  her  here,  and  she  gets  so 

73 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

tired  of  everything.  That  is  her  disease,  of  course. 
She's  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  Miss  Benson.  Lutie's 
only  a  child,  you  know." 

The  words,  but  far  more  than  the  words,  the  tone, 
were  at  once  a  defence  and  a  plea,  and  Frances's  heart 
went  out  to  him  in  sudden,  spontaneous  gratitude. 
Then  she  felt  those  gentler  emotions  chill  and  congeal. 
Why  should  he  not  defend  Lutie  and  plead  for  her? 
Was  it  not  through  him  that  the  plea  and  the  defence 
had  become  a  necessity?  She  remembered  the  insinua 
tions  made  by  Herries  and  accepted  by  Ethel  the  night 
before,  and  gazing  at  him,  she  unconsciously  followed 
his  previous  example  and  fell  to  musing.  How  impos 
sible  it  was  to  judge  by  appearances.  Garvin,  harassed 
by  anxiety  and  worn  with  sleepless  nights,  looked  almost 
ascetic,  and  yet,  Herries  and  even  Ethel 

"  Then  you  will  come?  " 

It  was  her  turn  to  start.  "  Of  course,"  hastily.  "  I 
will  spend  all  afternoon  with  her  if  she  cares  to  have 
me." 

"  Thank  you."  His  gratitude,  quietly  expressed,  was 
yet  so  sincere  as  to  be  touching.  He  fingered  the  cover 
of  a  book  on  the  table. 

"You  are  fond  of  reading?" 

"  I  think  so,"  she  replied,  raising  her  candid  eyes  to 
his.  "  I  would  be  if  I  let  myself.  I  never  have  much 
time  to  read." 

"  I  have  a  great  many  books,"  he  said.  "  I  would  be 
pleased  to  have  you  feel  at  perfect  liberty  to  use  them. 
I  got  a  new  box  last  night,  but  they  are  mostly  scien- 

74 


CHAPTER     SIX 

tific  works."  He  purposely  strove  to  prolong  the  con 
versation,  the  rest  that  her  little  room  afforded  him, 
the  easing  of  unceasing  nervous  tension,  the  content 
that  swept  over  him,  made  him  realise  that  he  was  a 
desperately  tired  man. 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  reading,  are  you  not  ?  " 
He  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow.  "  Yes — oh,  yes. 
It's  about  all  I  care  for.  I'm  a  pretty  busy  man.  I've 
got  a  lot  of  interests  that  require  almost  constant  look 
ing  after;  but  I've  got  to  read,  I  suppose,"  with  a 
smile,  "  that  I  take  my  reading  as  some  men  do  drugs. 
Well,"  rising  reluctantly,  "  I  must  go." 

"  And  I  will  see  Mrs.  Garvin  this  afternoon  soon 
after  two." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  again.  "  Good-bye." 
After  he  had  closed  the  door  behind  him  Frances  sat 
with  her  chin  on  her  hand,  looking  rather  vaguely  be 
fore  her.  The  first  time  she  had  seen  Garvin  she  had 
regarded  him  as  a  man  with  a  strong,  plain  face. 
Strong  it  assuredly  was ;  but  could  a  face  revealing  so 
much  character  ever  be  called  plain?  It  expressed 
courage,  endurance,  the  power  of  clear,  steady  judg 
ment  and  the  focussed  will;  but  there  was  the  cynicism 
of  the  eyes,  the  suggestion  of  recklessness,  or — or  hard 
ness,  she  could  not  quite  define  it — about  the  mouth.  It 
was  a  face  that*  suggested  a  thousand  histories  to  her 
and  revealed  none.  She  fancied  that  he  was  a  man  who 
had  once  possessed  illusions  and  ideals  and  had  suf 
fered  keenly  at  their  departure.  She  was  not  a  woman, 
however,  who  allowed  herself  much  time  for  dreaming, 

75 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

and  she  caught  up  her  sewing  with  a  feeling  of  impa 
tience  at  herself.  There  were  other  matters  that  needed 
her  attention  far  more  than  a  study  of  Walter  Garvin's 
characteristics.  There  was  the  estrangement  of  the 
Evanses  and  the  wretched  situation  of  Silas.  That  was 
a  problem  demanding  solution. 

These  were  enough  to  occupy  her  mind  until  she  set 
out  on  her  promised  visit  to  Lutie  that  afternoon ;  but 
after  crossing  her  little  bridge,  she  turned  back  to 
secure  heavier  wraps  and  an  umbrella.  The  sky  had 
grown  grey,  the  air  cold,  and  the  clouds  were  trail 
ing  long,  fleecy  streamers  across  the  foot  of  the  peaks ; 
the  wind,  too,  had  risen,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
she  made  her  way  against  it  to  Garvin's  door. 

Once  within,  and  surrounded  by  its  heavily  uphol 
stered  splendours,  her  mind  reverted  to  old  Andrew 
Campbell's  phrase — "  the  palace  of  his  light-o'-love  " 
— cruelly  ironical,  it  seemed  to  her  now,  after  being  ad 
mitted  into  the  scarlet  and  white  boudoir  with  the  Wat- 
teau  young  men  and  maidens  and  the  merry  cardinals 
smiling  from  the  walls.  The  room  was  full  of  the  odour 
of  stimulants,  and  high  among  her  scarlet  cushions  lay 
the  poor,  fading  light-o'-love,  her  feeble  flame  almost 
snuffed  out.  At  first  sight  of  her,  Frances  barely  re 
pressed  an  exclamation.  She  was  like  some  ghastly 
mummer  in  a  morbid  masquerade,  Death  leading  the 
dance,  with  roses  crowning  his  skull  and  his  jaws  fixed 
in  a  grin  of  terrible  mirth. 

In  honour  of  the  great  specialist  who  had  journeyed 
up  to  see  her  for  an  incredible  fee,  Lutie  had  decked 

76 


CHAPTER     SIX 

herself  as  if  for  a  ball.  A  delicate  pink  robe  fell 
about  her  in  long  folds,  elaborately  embroidered  with  a 
border  of  apple  blossoms,  and  from  this  depended  a 
foam  of  laces  that  a  duchess  might  envy.  Her  hair, 
dressed  by  Ethel's  hands,  was  piled  high  on  her  head, 
and  in  it  sparkled  diamonds  which  dazzled  the  eye  with 
their  white  blaze.  About  her  wasted  throat  and  all 
over  the  bosom  of  her  gown  were  gleaming  jewels;  but 
they  were  scarcely  more  glittering  than  her  eyes,  and 
the  hectic  flush  of  fever  flamed  under  the  paint  that  lay 
thick  on  her  sunken  cheeks. 

As  Frances  entered  she  ceased  to  finger  the  long  rope 
of  jewels  about  her  neck  and  turned  to  her  guest  with 
an  eager  j  oy. 

"  My  Lord !  But  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  she  cried, 
struggling  to  rise,  and  then  falling  back  on  her  pil 
lows.  "  They've  bothered  the  life  out  of  me  to-day," 
fretfully.  "  Walt,"  with  a  kind  of  impatient  pride, 
"  got  frightened  about  me  because  he  didn't  think  I 
was  improving  as  fast  as  I  ought  to,  and  nothing  would 
do  but  he  had  to  telegraph  for  Adams  down  to  Den 
ver.  Crazy!  I'm  gettin'  better  every  day.  Adams  was 
an  awful  nice  man,  though.  He  told  me  all  about  the 
opera  and  the  theatres  and  all,  and  he  says  there  ain't 
a  society  woman  in  Denver  that's  got  jewels  that  can 
touch  mine.  Oh,  how  nice  you  feel ! "  She  held  Fran 
ces's  cool,  firm  hands  between  her  own  moist,  restless 
palms,  and  then  laid  them  against  her  fevered  cheek. 
"  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  you  rest  me !  I  can  breathe 
easier  the  minute  you  come  into  the  room." 

77 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

"  Then  rest,"  urged  Frances,  drawing  a  chair  be 
side  her.  "  I  shall  be  here  for  two  or  three  hours.  Try 
and  sleep  a  little,  Lutie." 

"  I  believe  I  could,  if  you  sit  right  there.  I  feel  sort 
of  restless,  and  yet — I'm — so — tired,"  Lutie's  eyes 
drooped  heavily.  Then  she  reached  out,  and  again 
clutching  Frances's  hand  laid  it  against  her  cheek. 
From  time  to  time  she  broke  her  increasing  drowsiness 
with  muttered  phrases;  but  at  last  she  slept — more  or 
less  fitfully,  for  perhaps  an  hour.  Frances's  arm  grew 
numb  to  the  shoulder,  but  still  she  sat  motionless  as  a 
statue.  Suddenly  Lutie  awoke  with  a  nervous  start,  a 
look  of  fright  in  her  eyes.  "  Oh ! "  with  a  sigh  of  re 
lief.  "  I  thought  you'd  gone.  I  guess  I  dreamed  it. 
Well,  I  feel  better.  Say,"  with  a  return  of  animation, 
"  did  I  tell  you  that  that  big  doctor  said  there  wasn't 
a  woman  in  Denver  had  stones  that's  a  patch  on  mine? 
He  ought  to  know,  oughtn't  he?  I  guess  if  he  only 
knew  it,  there's  mighty  few  of  'em  that's  got  the 
clothes  I  got,  either.  Did  Ethel  tell  you  about  the  big 
box  that  come  the  other  night?  Hats  and  evening 
wraps  an'  dresses  an'  everything.  Ethel  went  crazy 
over  'em,  like  she  always  does,  an'  then  she  remembered 
her  conscience  and  wouldn't  look  at  them  any  more.  I 
call  that  silly,  don't  you?  I  wish  Walt  would  come,  I 
want  him  to  show  you  some  of  'em.  You  know  there's 
been  an  almost  complete  alteration  in  the  styles  this 
spring.  If  Walt  was  only  here!  I  don't  like  those 
Chinamen  to  handle  them  with  their  dirty  fingers." 

It  was  evident  that  nothing  really  interested  her  but 

78 


CHAPTER     SIX 

her  frocks  and  jewels.  It  was  as  though,  in  the  decline 
of  her  physical  strength,  some  fierce  and  counter 
acting  energy  gained  life,  expressing  itself  in  this 
strange  persistence  of  frivolous  and  futile  passions. 

Frances,  who  had  little  knowledge  of  toilettes  and 
less  interest  in  them,  regarded  it  as  a  phase  of  disease 
and  listened  patiently.  Presently,  in  the  midst  of  these 
broken  and  gasping  descriptions,  the  door  opened 
softly  and  Angel  entered,  her  elaborate  and  expensive 
frock,  as  usual,  mud-splashed  and  torn. 

"  For  pity's  sake ! "  exclaimed  her  mother.  "  At 
last !  Well,  I  think  it's  about  time.  Miss  Benson,  she 
hasn't  been  near  me  for  two  whole  days.  Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that?  Come  here." 

Angel  paid  no  more  heed  to  this  request  than  if  it 
had  not  been  voiced,  but  walked  over  and  stood  before 
the  Missionary,  regarding  her  steadily  with  her  limpid 
eyes.  She  had  evidently  just  come  in  from  the  open 
air.  Her  brown  curls  were  tossed  over  her  head,  the 
colour  of  wild  roses  was  on  her  cheek,  and  she  bore 
into  the  drug-laden  chamber  the  fresh  fragrance  of 
all  out-doors. 

"  Where's  Lambie?  "  asked  Frances  politely,  to  open 
the  conversation. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied  indifferently.  "  Hunting 
or  fishing,  I  guess.  He  told  me  dis  morning  he  wouldn't 
be  back  all  day,  not  till  evening." 

"  Now,  Angel,  don't  tell  lies,"  admonished  Lutie. 

"  He  did,"  affirmed  the  child.  She  looked  at  Frances 
with  inscrutable  eyes,  which  suddenly  became  incred- 

79 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

ibly  sly,  and  thrust  a  pointed,  pink  tongue  between  her 
teeth ;  her  whole  expression  seemed  full  of  feline  sug 
gestion.  "  He  says,  *  Miew-ow-ow.' ' 

The  Missionary  was  so  plainly  taken  aback  by  this 
uncanny  exhibition  that  Angel,  feeling  the  gratifica 
tion  of  the  artist  at  the  effect  produced,  was  stirred  to 
fresh  efforts. 

"  Wang  talks  sis  way."  Her  eyes  narrowed  and 
seemed  to  slant  upward,  her  mouth  became  a  slit,  she 
swayed  her  head  slightly  to  and  fro  after  the  manner  of 
Wang,  and  poured  forth  a  flood  of  "  pidgin  Eng 
lish,"  with  every  intonation  faultlessly  reproduced. 

Frances  and  her  mother  both  burst  into  laughter. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  mimic?"  asked  Lutie. 
"  And  she'll  hardly  ever  show  off,  either.  Come,  Angel, 
now  you're  started,  show  how  old  Campbell  looks  and 
talks." 

Angel  was  in  one  of  her  rare,  complaisant  moods, 
and,  ruffling  her  curls  over  her  brow  and  cheeks,  she 
peered  from  this  mass  of  simulated  whiskers,  whilo 
from  her  baby  lips  rang  a  curiously  exact  representa 
tion  of  the  old  man's  rich,  bell-like  tones.  She  even 
drew  a  chair  opposite  Frances,  and  seating  herself, 
leaned  forward,  thrusting  out  her  lower  jaw,  and  draw 
ing  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth  until  it  assumed  bitter 
curves,  a  harsh  laugh  meanwhile  issuing  from  her  lips ; 
"  Mr.  Herries,"  she  announced,  although  Frances 
needed  no  explanation. 

"  Ain't  she  a  wonder !  "  said  her  mother  with  pride. 
'*  My !  you  ought  to  seen  her  the  other  day.  Mis' 

80 


CHAPTER     SIX 

Nitschkan  was  here,  and  Angel  just  sat  and  stared  at 
her  like  she  was  fascinated.  Well,  after  Nitschkan  had 
gone,  that  child  took  her  off,  and  I  d'clare,  you  couldn't 
have  told  that  the  old  gipsy  wasn't  in  the  room.  An' 
she's  got  a  memory  a  yard  long.  She  can  remember 
everything  she  hears.  I  tell  you  what,  that  kid's  going 
to  be  an  actress — one  of  the  real  headliners — ain't  you, 
Angel?  With  her  looks,  and  her  talent,  and  all  Walt 
can  give  her,  I  bet  she'll  live  on  Easy  Street  all  her  life, 
even  if  her  mother  didn't — what's  that  ?  "  nervously,  as 
a  soft  whining  and  scratching  at  the  door  became 
audible.  "  Now,  Angel,  don't  you  let  any  of  your 
beasts  in  here." 

Angel  listened  intently  a  moment.  "  It's  White 
Puppy,"  she  said.  "  I  know  his  scratch.  He  wants  me 
to  come  out.  He  talks  to  me  sis  way :  '  Bow-wow ! ' : 
She  barked  and  whined  a  second  like  a  little  dog,  eye 
ing  Frances  the  while  with  an  elfin  malice  and  mischief ; 
then  apparently  satisfied  with  the  astonishment  and 
appreciation  of  her  audience,  she  yielded  to  the  insist 
ent  demands  for  her  presence  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door  and  joined  the  only  companion  for  which  she  ever 
showed  anything  approaching  affection. 

Frances,  too,  arose,  as  the  afternoon  was  growing 
late,  and  there  was  still  something  she  intended  to  do. 

"  You're  awful  good  to  stay  with  me  so  long,"  said 
Lutie  gratefully.  "You'll  come  often,  won't  you? 
Why,  Miss  Benson,  I  just  felt  drawn  to  you  the  first 
moment  I  saw  you ;  but  you  didn't  like  me  at  first,  did 
you?  No,"  shaking  her  head,  "you  didn't.  You  kind 

81 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

o'  drew  back  from  me,  I  could  see  it.  I  suppose,"  with 
the  effort  to  appreciate  another  point  of  view,  "  that 
to  anyone  that  looks  at  things  like  you  got  to,  being 
a  Missionary — it  seems  awful  for  people  not  to  be 
married.  I  suppose  you  couldn't  help  blaming  me." 

She  spoke  with  a  pathos  which  revealed  that  she  knew 
the  deep,  eternal,  feminine  anguish  of  being  her  sex's 
scorn;  and  in  an  illuminating  flash,  Frances  realised 
that  her  pride  in  her  laces  and  jewels — all  her  flaunt 
ing  possessions — lay  deeper  than  mere  trivial  vanity. 
She  prized  and  clung  to  them  because  they  served  to 
restore  her  self-esteem,  and  in  a  measure  effected  her 
social  rehabilitation.  She  was  but  following,  un 
consciously  perhaps,  her  feminine  instinct  for  retalia 
tion,  and  on  the  only  lines  which  might  avail.  If  con 
temned,  she  would  also  be  envied. 

"  Oh,  Lutie ;  poor,  dear  Lutie,  I  never  blamed  you !  " 
Frances  knelt  beside  her  and  held  her  thin  hands  closely 
in  hers.  "  Never."  Her  eyes  glowed  sombrely,  her 
mouth  shut  in  a  hard  line.  There  were  hot  rebellion  and 
resentment  in  her  heart.  She  seemed  to  see  a  long,  an 
unending  line  of  Luties,  butterflies  with  the  iridescent 
dust  brushed  rudely  from  their  torn  and  bedraggled 
wings,  those  gossamer  wings  made  to  float  on  sun 
beams. 

"  I  blame  him,"  she  cried  involuntarily. 

"  Not  Walt?  "  Lutie  dragged  away  her  hands  and 
struggled  to  a  half-sitting  position.  "  I  guess  you're 
on  the  wrong  tack.  Huh,"  with  a  short  laugh,  "  you 
don't  know  Walt,  nor  what  he  took  me  from.  You 

82 


CHAPTER     SIX 

ain't  got  an  idea  how  Angel  and  me  happen  to  be  here. 
Why,  while  Walt  was  down  prospecting  in  Nevada,  he 
was  dickering  with  my  husband  for  a  mine.  He  stopped 
at  our  cabin,  and  I  cooked  for  'em,  so,  of  course,  I 
saw  a  good  deal  of  him."  She  paused  a  moment,  her 
eyes  dilating  curiously,  as  she  gazed  into  that  past 
whence  she  had  escaped;  then,  with  a  hard  little  laugh, 
she  went  on :  "I  could  tell  you  things  that'd  make  you 
sit  up  and  take  notice,  Missioner,  about  what  my  life 
was;  but  what's  the  use?  Put  it  all  in  a  nutshell  and 
let  it  go  at  one  word — hell.  I  was  beginning  to  get  sick 
even  then,  and  one  day  Walt  come  in  and  found  me,  all 
knocked  black  and  blue.  Well,  you  ought  to  seen  him! 
He  wasted  no  time  in  tying  on  my  hat  and  cloak,  and 
the  same  for  Angel,  and  he  says :  '  I  can't  stand  it 
any  longer,  Lutie.  You  and  the  child  got  to  come  with 
me,  and  come  now ! '  Say,  I  can  hear  the  whistle  of  that 
train  yet — 'way,  far  in  the  distance,  and  when  we  got 
on  and  fairly  started  and  Walt  put  some  pillows  round 
me  in  the  seat,  I  knew  I  was  in  heaven.  I  can't  think 
of  heaven  in  any  other  way — just  that  little  old  parlour 
car.  We  went  to  Southern  California,  and  we  certainly 
had  an  awful  fine  time.  Walt  bought  me  jewels  and 
everything,  and  I  always  did  love  pretty  things,  but 
I  didn't  seem  to  get  well.  The  doctors  said  it  would  take 
a  long  time,  'cause  I'd  had  such  bad  treatment.  But 
do  you  know,  Miss  Benson,"  lifting  piteous  eyes,  "  I 
ain't  never  spoke  of  this  to  anybody  but  you;  I  don't 
even  like  to  think  of  it,  'cause  it  makes  me  so  unhappy ; 
but  even  at  first,  spite  of  his  being  so  good  to  me  and 

83 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

all,  I  had  a  kind  of  an  idea  that  Walt  didn't  really 
love  me.  I  don't  believe  he  really  loves  me  now;  he  just 
feels  sorry  for  me."  She  threw  her  arms  out  upon  the 
pillow,  and  burying  her  face  in  them,  sobbed. 

"  Lutie,  Lutie,"  soothed  Frances,  her  whole  heart 
going  out  to  the  bruised,  dependent  creature.  "  He  does 
love  you — I  know  it.  You  get  such  ideas  because  you 
are  ill.  It's  just  a  sick  fancy." 

"  Maybe,"  sighed  Lutie.  "  But  you'll  come  to-mor 
row?  Promise." 

*'  I'll  come  whenever  you  want  me." 

"  Listen ! "  exclaimed  Lutie,  lifting  her  head. 
"  That's  Walt's  step."  She  carefully  wiped  away  all 
traces  of  tears,  her  handkerchief  showing,  as  a  result, 
heavy  smears  of  rouge.  "  He's  just  come  down  from  the 
mines." 

In  verification  of  her  words,  Garvin  entered  presently 
in  his  high  boots  and  corduroys.  His  worn  face 
brightened  when  he  saw  Frances  still  there. 

"  Miss  Benson,  it  is  good  of  you  to  come  in  and  cheer 
up  Lutie  while  I  had  to  be  away."  He  shook  hands 
with  her,  exchanging  a  smile  of  mutual  comprehension 
over  their  innocent  deception,  although,  to  do  the  Mis 
sionary  justice,  hers  was  faintly  deprecating. 

"Wasn't  it?"  smiled  Lutie.  "Say,  Walt,"  with 
pouting  coquetry,  "  you  ain't  noticed  my  swell  get- 
up." 

"  Goodness !  You're  fine !  "  admired  Garvin.  "  And 
all  your  jewels!  You  must  have  been  trying  to  dazzle 
the  doctor,  weren't  you?  Oh,  that  dress  's  a  beauty!" 

84 


CHAPTER     SIX 

"  Did  you  notice  the  apple  blossoms  and  the  lace?  " 
she  asked  eagerly. 

He  lifted  a  corner  of  the  robe  and  examined  the 
delicately  embroidered  flowers.  "  They're  great,  aren't 
they?  Sure,  they're  not  real?"  affecting  to  smell 
them. 

"  Oh,  Walt,  ain't  you  crazy ! "  she  laughed  delight 
edly.  "  And  the  lace — you  ought  to  scold  me  about  that 
lace,  Walt.  It  cost  twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  But 
that's  nothing  to  you,  is  it?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied  laconically,  "  that's  nothing.  You 
can't  spend  it  as  fast  as  it  pours  in,  child,  no  matter 
how  hard  you  try." 

His  face  had  fallen  again  into  its  sad,  granite-like 
repose,  and  Frances  apprehended  in  some  way  that  he 
brooded  over  the  thought  of  how  little  his  wealth  could 
really  bring  him.  Meeting  her  glance  suddenly,  he 
smiled,  and  then  gazed  at  her  keenly.  She  looked  a 
little  tired.  "  Come,  Miss  Benson,"  he  said,  rising,  "  I 
want  you  to  see  my  library;  Lutie  has  been  exhibiting 
her  jewels,  now  I  want  you  to  see  mine." 

"  Yes,  go,"  urged  Lutie.  "  Maybe  you  like  books ;  I 
don't  care  much  about  them,  except  some  of  the  picture 
magazines." 

As  Frances  and  Garvin  walked  down  the  hall  to 
gether  to  his  library,  she  felt  a  new  respect  and  a  real 
admiration  for  him.  His  kindness  toward  Lutie,  his 
unfailing  tenderness  and  patience  with  her,  aroused 
a  sentiment  of  vicarious  gratitude  in  the  Missionary's 
heart,  and  she  showed  her  change  of  feeling  by  cast- 

85 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

ing  aside  the  rather  cold  reserve  of  manner  with  which 
she  had  formerly  met  him. 

"  Does  the  doctor  think  Lutie  can  be  moved  ?  "  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice  just  as  they  reached  the  library 
door. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  He  considers  her  worse  even 
than  I  feared,"  he  sadly  replied.  "  He  has  ordered  a 
change  of  treatment,  however,  and  will  be  up  again  in 
a  few  days'  time.  But  you  have  had  enough  to  bother 
you  to-day.  Come." 

The  library  was  a  large  and  lofty  room,  austerely 
furnished  in  dark  leather,  with  walls  almost  completely 
covered  with  bookshelves,  beginning  at  the  floor  and 
running  up  to  the  ceiling;  the  tables,  too,  were  cov 
ered  with  books,  papers,  and  the  graver  reviews. 

Frances  could  not  fail  to  notice  that,  here  in  his  own 
domain,  Garvin  became  a  different  man ;  the  weariness 
vanished  from  his  face,  his  whole  expression  lightened 
and  brightened,  he  was  alert  and  interested.  He  showed 
her  his  various  editions  with  an  affectionate  pride,  han 
dling  them  lovingly,  as  he  explained  their  beauties  to 
her,  and  she,  listening  with  rapt  attention,  felt  as  if  the 
gates  of  a  new  world  had  opened  to  her — the  calm, 
lofty,  secluded  world  of  the  intellect. 

Here  was  evidently  Garvin's  real  treasure,  and  here, 
too,  was  his  heart.  This  library  of  his  was  a  source 
of  riches  to  him,  beside  which  the  yellow  stream  which 
ran  from  his  golden  treasure-houses  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  afforded  him  no  commensurate  return. 

"  I  love  to  hear  about  these  things,"  cried  Frances, 

86 


CHAPTER     SIX 

with  one  of  her  rare  outbursts  of  enthusiasm.  "  I — I 
am  very  ignorant.  I've  been  too  busy  always  to  read 
much." 

"  As  I  told  you  this  morning,"  he  said,  evidently 
gratified  by  her  pleasure,  "  I  am  delighted  to  have  you 
come  here  and  read,  or  take  any  of  the  books  as  often 
as  you  choose." 

"  Thank  you."  She  held  out  her  hand  with  one  of 
her  attractive  smiles.  "  I  must  go  now.  I  have  stayed 
far  longer  than  I  should.  I  have  a  matter  on  hand 
which  must  be  attended  to  to-night." 


87 


IT  was  as  wild  an  evening  as  the  afternoon  had 
seemed  to  presage ;  the  rain  was  falling  in  fitful  dashes, 
and  the  mountain  wind  was  piercingly  keen.  Frances, 
however,  did  not  follow  her  inclination  and  hasten  on 
to  the  warm  solitude  of  her  cabin ;  but  with  her  mission 
firmly  in  mind,  turned  up  the  road  toward  the  home  of 
Mrs.  Evans. 

After  she  had  knocked  at  the  door  and  been  admitted 
by  one  of  the  children,  she  found  to  her  relief  that  Mrs. 
Evans  had  also  just  reached  home  after  her  trip  to  the 
station  and  was  divesting  herself  of  the  heavy  wraps 
she  had  worn  as  a  protection  against  the  weather. 
This  emotion  was  speedily  mitigated  by  the  sight  of 
Mrs.  Thomas,  Mrs.  Landvetter,  and  Mrs.  Nitschkan 
sitting  comfortably  about  the  stove,  sipping  coffee  and 
engaged  in  the  pleasure  of  unrestrained  and  unham 
pered  conversation  possible  to  such  well-cemented  inti 
macies. 

"  Why,  Miss  Benson ! "  called  Mrs.  Evans  from  an 
inner  room,  overhearing  the  polite  and  even  effusive 
greeting  accorded  Frances  by  the  ladies  about  the  fire. 
"  This  is  sure  good  of  you  to  come  in  such  a  day. 
Eolanthe,  set  up  a  chair  for  Miss  Benson.  I'll  be  out 
in  a  second." 

88 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 

"  Well,  if  this  ain't  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,"  cooed 
Mrs.  Thomas  affectionately.  "  Let  me  help  you  off  with 
your  gums,  Missioner." 

"  It  sure  is,"  agreed  Mrs.  Nitschkan  breezily. 
"  What  you  want's  a  steamin'  cup  of  coffee,  Missioner ; 
sugar  an'  cream? "  proceeding  to  pour  the  strong 
coffee  into  a  cup,  with  a  necessary  accompaniment  of 
noise. 

"  It  vas  an  awful  day,  vasn't  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter,  looking  up  from  her  lace  needles  and  adding  her 
mite  to  the  general  cordiality. 

"  Pretty  bad,"  replied  the  Missionary,  taking  a  seat, 
and  picking  up  the  baby  who  had  toddled  to  meet  her; 
"  but  it's  so  cheerful  in  here  that  you  soon  forget  the 
weather  outside." 

"My!  I  just  got  soaked  to  the  skin  driving  up 
from  the  station,"  continued  the  voice  from  an  inner 
chamber.  "  Wait  till  I  get  some  of  these  duds  off  and 
some  dry  ones  on,  and  I'll  be  right  out.  Celora,  did  you 
keep  up  the  fire  in  the  kitchen  while  I  was  gone?  I 
wisht  you'd  stay  for  supper,  Miss  Benson;  not  that 
there's  anything  to  tempt  you,  Lord  knows;  but  why 
can't  you  stay  and  take  potluck  with  me  and  the  chil 
dren?  The  other  ladies  say  they  got  to  go  on." 

Frances  reflected  a  moment.  This  was  evidently  her 
opportunity.  "  I  will  be  glad  to,"  she  replied,  "  if  you 
won't  go  to  any  trouble  for  me." 

"  It's  no  trouble,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Benson."  Mrs. 
Evans,  trim  as  a  neat  brown  wren,  appeared  and  took 
her  place  in  the  circle  about  the  fire.  "  How  would  you 

69 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

like  some  muffins?  Now,  I'm  ready  to  sit  down  and 
chat.  Celora,  you  can  break  some  eggs  for  mommie." 

"  Missioner,  I  seen  you  goin'  to  Walt  Garvin's  this 
afternoon.  What  did  that  big  doctor  say  about 
Lutie?"  asked  Mrs.  Nitschkan  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  dat's  vat  ve  all  vant  to  know,"  muttered  Mrs. 
Landvetter. 

"  I  didn't  see  the  doctor,"  returned  Frances  non- 
committally. 

The  ladies  understood  that  further  questioning  was 
unnecessary. 

"  I'm  a  givin'  her  about  a  month  more,"  affirmed 
Mrs.  Nitschkan,  with  finality. 

"  I  guess."  Mrs.  Landvetter  slowly  shook  her  head. 

Mrs.  Thomas  sighed  heavily.  "  Ethel  says  she  ain't 
made  no  preparations  at  all.  She  don't  think  of  one 
thing  but  clothes  and  such,  and  you  all  know  that 
nothin'  could  be  perishinger.  Ethel  feels  awful  about 
her  unpreparedness ;  she  says  she  can't  sleep  at  night 
for  thinkin'  of  it,  and  she  feels  all  the  time  like  she's 
called  to  be  a  instrument;  so  the  other  day,  she  drug 
old  man  Campbell  to  see  Lutie.  She  reasoned  that  if 
he  could  do  what  he  done  for  her,  he  could  save  a  stick 
or  a  stone. 

"  Well,  that  very  same  evening,  she  come  into  our 
house  cryin*  to  beat  the  band.  She  says  that  one  of 
Campbell's  despairin'  spells  was  comin'  on,  only  she 
didn't  know  it,  and  that  after  she  got  him  in  that  red 
room  of  the  Garvin's  he  seemed  kind  o'  dazed.  He  just 
get  there  with  his  wild  eyes  fixed  on  Lutie?  an'  never 

90 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 

so  much  as  sayin'  one  word  of  comfort  or  exhortation, 
jus'  every  once  in  a  while,  he'd  hiss  out  somethin'  about 
Jezebel,  or  the  daughters  of  Babylon,  an'  '  wailin'  an' 
gnashin'  of  teeth.' 

"  An'  while  she  was  doin'  her  best  to  get  him  on 
another  tack,  in  come  that  devil  child,  Angel,  am' 
mocked  him  to  his  face,  so's  you  couldn't  tell  which  was 
which.  Well,  as  a  result,  Lutie  got  to  laughin'  an' 
cryin'  all  at  once,  an'  run  right  into  the  *  strikes  ' ;  an' 
she  clutched  hold  of  Ethel  an'  screamed :  4  Take  him 
away !  take  him  away !  he's  crazy.  Walt !  Walt !  Walt ! ' 
an'  Walt  run  in  an'  drove  'em  all  right  out.  Oh,  it 
must  have  been  something  fierce.  Ethel  was  all  broke 
up,  I  can  tell  you ;  but  she  ain't  goin'  to  back  out.  She 
says  to  me  to-day :  '  It  'most  looks  like  I  got  to  fight 
the  Devil  single-handed  for  Lutie's  soul;  but  I  ain't 
goin'  to  let  her  die  in  her  sins,'  she  says. 

"  I  tried  to  cheer  her  up  the  best  I  could.  I  says : 
'  Well,  Ethel,  you  never  know  what  means  the  Lord's 
goin'  to  take.  Maybe  somebody'll  go  to  raisin'  a  rough- 
house  somewheres  an'  put  a  bullet  through  one  or  two 
of  her  husbands,  an'  then  Walt  can  marry  her  at  the 
eleventh  hour.'  I  told  that  to  Ethel  to  cheer  her  up; 
but  I  couldn't  put  much  faith  in  it  myself.  Things 
don't  happen  that  slick."  Mrs.  Thomas  sighed  more 
heavily  than  before,  and  peered  into  the  depths  of  her 
coffee  cup  with  as  much  of  an  expression  of  tragedy 
as  her  soft,  indefinite  features  could  assume. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Marthy  ? "  inquired  Mrs. 
Nitschkan  robustly.  "  You  ain't  got  nothin'  to  bother 

91 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

about  except  how  to  spend  that  two  thousand  Seth  left 
you  to  do  as  you  please  with." 

"  Dere's  only  one  way  to  spend  it,"  chuckled  Mrs. 
Landvetter ;  "  put  it  down  in  your  stockin'  an'  keep  it 
there." 

"  Listen  to  old  Mis'  Miser,"  scoffed  Mrs.  Evans. 
"  Well,  Marthy,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  I'm  a  thinkin'  of  doin'  up  the  parlour,"  scanning 
the  faces  of  her  friends  for  signs  of  approval. 

"  Gosh  a'mighty !  "  murmured  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  with 
a  portentous  yawn.  "  I  wouldn't  waste  good  money 
that-a-way.  Get  yourself  a  horse  an'  cart,  pile  the 
kids  in  an'  jant  around  havin'  a  good  time.  You'd 
better  believe  I  would.  I'd  bake  up  a  mess  of  meat  turn 
overs  and  doughnuts,  and  the  Devil  could  go  a-courtin' 
for  all  of  me.  I'd  have  a  picnic  every  day  in  the  year." 

"  Ah,  shut  up,  Nitschkan ! "  said  Mrs.  Evans. 
"  Don't  go  puttin'  such  ideas  in  Mis'  Thomas's  head. 
Every  woman  don't  want  to  go  a-gipsyin'  like  you. 
Some  of  us  has  got  a  little  respectability  and  domesti 
cation.  You  go  ahead,  Marthy,  an'  get  your  parlour 
fixed  up.  Have  some  style  about  you,  an'  for  the  land's 
sake,  whitewash  the  kitchen  ceiling;  it's  scaling  some 
thing  fierce." 

"  You'd  get  more  fun  out  of  a  horse  and  cart,"  Mrs. 
Nitschkan  asserted,  a  teasing  gleam  in  her  small  bright 
eyes. 

"  Maybe  you  would."  Mrs.  Evans  emphasised  the 
pronoun ;  "  but  it  wouldn't  make  no  show  when  folks 
come  to  the  house.  You  know  everybody'll  want  to  know 

92 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 

what  you  done  with  Thomas's  insurance,"  speaking  au 
thoritatively  to  Mrs.  Thomas,  "  an'  you  know  your 
self  it'll  look  frivolous  to  show  them  a  horse  an'  a 
cart,  with  the  house  needin'  paint,  and  the  nap  all  off 
the  plush  in  the  parlour  set,  an'  the  pillow  shams  on  the 
parlour  bed  only  scalloped,  not  a  shred  of  lace  on  'em. 
It  wouldn't  look  right  honest,  Mis'  Thomas,  when 
Thomas  done  so  well  by  you  an'  left  you  all  that  he 
did." 

In  truth,  Thomas  had  electrified  Zenith  by  leaving  to 
his  widow  what  was  regarded  in  that  remote  village  as 
a  comfortable  fortune,  for  he  had  been  one  who  had 
en j  oy ed  a  bout  with  the  earth  for  its  fruits ;  and  what 
he  had  gained  he  clutched  tight  from  the  grasp  of 
his  seeking  fellows. 

The  estate  then  of  which  Mrs.  Thomas  was  the  im 
portant,  if  depressed,  legatee,  comprised  a  half  interest 
in  the  "  Zenobia,"  a  prospect  with  an  excellent  showing 
on  Eureka  Mountain;  a  patch  of  land  down  in  the 
valley  which  was  devoted  to  melon  culture,  and  three 
well-rented  houses  on  Sunshine  Avenue.  This  property 
was  left  in  trust  for  the  widow  and  the  children  in  the 
hands  of  Dan  Mayhew,  the  village  lawyer  and  notary 
public ;  but  a  life  insurance  of  two  thousand  dollars 
was  bequeathed  exclusively  to  Mrs.  Thomas,  to  be  used 
as  she  saw  fit,  and  it  was  the  proper  disposal  of  this 
sum  which  was  at  present  troubling  her  vague  and  un 
practical  soul. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  rising  to 
her  feet  and  buttoning  her  coat  about  her ;  "  I'll  be 

93 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

honest,  woman  dear,  and  tell  the  truth.  I  never  had  no 
use  for  Thomas  in  life.  I  can  see  him  yet,  lookin'  at 
me  with  that  black,  twisted  smile  of  his'n  and  sayin' 
things  that  you  couldn't  'a*  helped  swattin'  him  for  if 
he'd  had  his  lights. 

"  That  hole  where  his  lungs  ought  to  have  been  was 
all  that  saved  him  from  me  again  and  again ;  but  I  do 
say  this,  and  I'll  say  it  loud  enough  for  everyone  to 
hear,  that  the  way  he's  left  you,  woman  dear,  is  an 
example"  to  every  man  in  the  camp.  Maybe  you  think  I 
ain't  rubbed  it  into  Jack." 

She  but  voiced  the  universal  feminine  sentiment  in 
Zenith.  There  had  been  no  hesitation,  no  slack  work 
in  the  endeavour  to  rub  it  into  every  separate  Jack. 

"  Well,  it's  time  we  was  moving  on.  Pull  yourself 
out  of  that  chair,  Landvetter.  Come,  Marthy.  Stop  in 
soon  an*  see  me,  Missioner." 

"  And  me,"  echoed  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  Und  me,"  from  Mrs.  Landvetter. 

"  Say,  Missioner,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  after  she  had 
returned  from  seeing  her  guests  to  the  front  door, 
"  I  was  tellin'  the  girls  just  before  you  come  in,  a 
preacher  come  to  camp  to-night.  I  drove  him  up  to 
the  Thorn  House  a  while  back.  He's  a  lunger,  of 
course.  I  told  him  about  you,  and  he  says  he  was  goin* 
to  call  on  you  to-morrow.  He's  a  tall,  spindlin'  fellow, 
kind  of  meek-looking ;  sort  of  nice,  too." 

Frances  looked  up  with  considerable  interest.  "  That 
will  be  very  nice,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  he  will  help  with 
the  Sunday  school  and  preach  occasionally.  That  will 

94 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 

give  you  a  chance  to  hear  some  real  sermons.  That  is, 
if  he  is  well  enough  to  preach." 

"Oh,  I  guess  so;  his  voice  sounded  strong;  but, 
Missioner,"  looking  meditatively  at  her  guest,  with  a 
softening  of  her  bead-like  eyes,  "  your  preachin's  good 
enough  for  us ;  it's  real  comfortin'  and  helpful." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  preach."  Francis  drew  back  in  genuine 
humility  and  coloured  deeply.  "  I  can  only  talk  a  little 
of  the  things  that  have  helped  me,  and  that  I  think  may 
help  some  of  you ;  but  to  really  preach — why,  Mrs. 
Evans,  I  couldn't." 

"  Well,  call  it  what  you  please,"  amiably,  "  it  suits 
me.  Oh,  say,  Missioner,"  her  quick  mind  flying  off  in 
another  direction,  "  Shock  O'Brien  and  his  wife  come 
yesterday." 

"Did  they?"  responded  Frances. 

"  Yes,  I  drove  'em  up  from  the  station ;  but  that's 
all  the  good  it  did  me.  I  got  neither  sight  nor  sound  of 
her.  Shock  was  like  a  kid,  he  almost  hugged  me,  an' 
then  introduced  her;  but  she  jus'  bowed,  as  stiff  as  you 
please.  Her  face  was  all  tied  up  in  a  veil  an'  she  had 
on  one  of  them  big,  loose  coats,  an'  I  couldn't  tell  no 
more'n  the  man  in  the  moon  what  she  looked  like. 

"  They've  taken  that  nice  little  frame  house  of 
Marthy  Thomas's  on  Sunshine  Avenue,  and  Shock  was 
out  paintin'  it  this  morning.  It'll  seem  funny  to  see  a 
painted  house  in  Zenith,  won't  it? 

"  The  boys  that  seen  this  here  f  Black  Pearl,'  as  they 
call  her,  says  she's  a  beauty." 

"  Is  she?  "  said  Frances  dreamily,  and  evidencing  no 

95 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

especial  interest.  Indeed,  she  scarcely  heard;  her  mind 
was  busy  with  the  problem  before  her,  the  task  she 
had  set  herself  to  perform. 

The  rain  drove  wildly  against  the  windows,  the  wind 
shrieked  about  the  house,  and  Frances  thought  of  Silas 
Evans  in  his  lonely  cabin,  and  nerved  herself  to  speech. 
Moistening  her  lips  nervously,  once  or  twice,  she  drove, 
as  was  her  wont,  straight  at  the  subject  she  had  in 
mind. 

"  Mrs.  Evans,"  looking  steadily  at  her  hostess,  "  I 
saw  Mr.  Evans  to-day." 

The  tiny  woman  she  addressed  drew  herself  up  with 
a  hauteur  worthy  of  a  duchess.  "  Eolanthe,"  to  the 
child  who  leaned  against  her  knee,  "  run  and  get  mom- 
mie  a  pail  of  water  from  the  well.  Now,  Miss  Benson," 
turning  to  the  Missionary  with  flashing  eyes,  "  there  is 
some  subjects  that  I  can't  feel  had  better  be  discussed. 
Sile  Evans  is  one  of  them." 

Frances's  dark  eyes  dwelt  on  the  fire  a  moment,  a 
puzzled  expression  in  their  depths;  then  she  turned  to 
Mrs.  Evans  with  a  pleading  embarrassment  of  manner, 
foreign  to  her  usual  composure. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  get  some  light ! "  she  cried, 
clasping  her  hands  tight  together.  "  I've  prayed  and 
prayed  for  light  about  this  matter,  but  none  has  been 
vouchsafed  me.  I  know  that  it  is  entirely  your  own 
affair,  and  that  I  haven't  a  particle  of  call  to  meddle; 
but  oh! — the  hardest  thing  about  right  is  to  be  sure 
that  it  is  right,  and  not  an  unwarrantable  interference 
in  someone's  else  business.  When  I  lie  awake  at  night 

96 


She  turned  to  J/r.v.  Evans  icith  a  pleading  embarrassment 
of  manner 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 

and  bother  over  my  sins,  it's  not  the  bad  things  I've 
done  that  torment  me,  it's  the  way  I've  meddled  in 
other  folk's  business,  trying  to  do  them  good,  and 
Satan  only  knows  all  the  harm  I've  done." 

Mrs.  Evans's  eyes  hardened.  She  carefully  untied  her 
apron  and  then  tied  it  again  with  an  air  of  unalterable 
resolution. 

"  We  might  just  as  well  settle  this  matter  now,  Miss 
Benson,"  she  said  crisply,  "  an'  then  we'll  have  it  over 
an'  done  with.  I  don't  take  no  steps  without  first  con 
sidering  them,  and  when  I  decide  a  thing,  I  decide  it. 
I  ain't  one  to  do  a  thing  and  then  wish  I  hadn't.  What 
I  do,  I  do  once  an'  fer  all,  an'  I  guess  Sile  Evans 
knows  that  well  enough  without  comin'  whining  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Evans ! "  exclaimed  Frances,  "  you 
mustn't  think  that — indeed,  you  mustn't.  He  never  said 
a  word  about  you — never.  But  I  couldn't  help  feeling 
sorry  for  him.  No  woman  could." 

She  paused  a  moment,  seeing  Mrs.  Evans's  face  grow 
colder  and  more  resentful ;  and  in  that  moment,  Herries' 
words  of  the  night  before  came  to  her  like  a  message — 
"  Use  your  woman's  wits.  You  are  only  strong  when 
you  employ  the  weapons  that  come  natural  to  you ! " 

Last  night  she  had  rejected  the  suggestion  as  un 
worthy.  To-day,  in  view  of  the  immediate  circum 
stances,  it  seemed  legitimate,  even  Heaven-sent.  Her 
chin  lifted  slightly,  her  eyes  had  quickened  with  that 
exultant  consciousness  of  power  that  came  to  her  in 
such  moments.  She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  without 

97 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

altering  her  position  or  unclasping  her  folded  hands, 
her  figure  seemed  in  some  subtle  way  to  become  in 
formed  with  authority.  It  was  woman  to  woman  now, 
woman  who  knew  instinctively  how  to  reach  her  own 
sex  and  meant  consciously  and  completely  to  use  that 
knowledge. 

"  You  know,"  Frances's  voice  was  low  and  even, 
"  what  that  wretched  little  cabin  is,  where  the  boards 
don't  meet  by  half  an  inch.  There  was  his  poor  bunk 
in  the  corner,  with  the  thin,  torn  bedding,  the  broken- 
down  stove  and  no  fire  in  it,  the  rusty,  dirty  pots  and 
pans.  It  all  looked  so  wretched  for  a  man  like  him. 
You've  always  made  him  so  comfortable  that  he's  help 
less  when  it  comes  to  taking  care  of  himself.  He  has  a 
dreadful  cold,  and  he  seemed  so  sick  and  forlorn  that 
I  just  had  to  come  to  you." 

Mrs.  Evans  again  untied  her  apron  and  this  time 
cast  it  from  her.  "  For  the  land's  sake,  Miss  Benson," 
with  visible  impatience,  "  I'd  'a'  thought  you  might  at 
least  have  turned  in  and  washed  the  dishes  for  him." 

"  Why,  no,"  hesitated  Frances,  pursuing  her  design, 
"  I  would  not  have  liked  to  suggest  it." 

Mrs.  Evans  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Well,  all  I  can 
say  is  that  Christianity  seems  a  mighty  funny  thing 
now-a-days.  Sile  is  not  used  to  baching  and  he  never 
was  handy.  I  should  think  common  charity  would  have 
made  you  want  to  clean  up  a  bit." 

She  took  the  bowl  of  muffin  batter  from  the  child  at 
the  table  and  began  to  beat  it  furiously.  "  Celora,  set 
the  table  right  off,  an'  for  Heaven's  sake,  take  Rupert 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 

Hentzau  out  of  my  way !  I  never  see  such  a  child  for 
gettin'  under  your  feet.  What  kind  of  a  bed  did  you 
say  Sile  was  sleepin'  on,  Miss  Benson?  Just  a  cot  under 
the  window,  and  torn  bed-clothes,  eh?  Old  man  Beebee's, 
I'll  be  bound,  an'  nobody  ever  did  rightly  know  what 
the  old  man  died  of.  In  under  the  window,  too.  Well, 
Miss  Benson,"  bitterly,  "  I  should  think  for  a  perfessor 
like  you,  your  conscience  would  be  kind  of  sore  this 
evening.  Did  you  say  Sile  had  a  cold?  " 

"  I  noticed  how  hoarse  he  was  and  asked  him  about 
it,"  replied  Frances  meekly.  She  might  have  justly  re 
sented  Mrs.  Evans's  tone  and  manner ;  but  the  heart  of 
woman  knew  the  heart  of  woman,  and  recognised  the 
primitive  voice.  "  He  said  that  he  had  been  suffering 
from  a  severe  cold  and  indigestion." 

"  What  kind  of  a  cold  was  it  ?  "  standing  with  arms 
akimbo,  "  in  his  head  or  on  his  chest  ?  " 

"  He  seemed  very  hoarse,  he  could  hardly  speak." 

"  For  pity's  sake !  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  he's  caught 
his  death  sleepin'  up  there  in  that  tumble-down  cabin 
on  old  man  Beebee's  bed,  an'  starvin'  himself  to  death. 
He  can't  cook  no  more  than  Rupert  Hentzau,  an'  now 
he's  got  a  cold  on  his  lungs.  It  means  pleurisy  to-night 
as  sure  as  fate.  Celora,  get  me  the  cough  mixture  from 
the  top  shelf  of  the  closet  under  the  stairs,  an'  the  cov 
ered  basket.  An'  you  never  done  a  thing  for  him,  Miss 
Benson?  Well,  I  guess  I've  seen  enough  of  what  they 
call,  '  the  missionary  sperit '  to  last  me  quite  a  while." 

"  You  were  my  friend,"  said  Frances,  slowly. 

Mrs.  Evans  cocked  her  head  scornfully.  "  I  don't 

99 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

think  it's  no  time  to  be  talkin'  that  way,  Miss  Benson, 
when  a  human  being's  at  the  point  of  death.  And  let 
me  tell  you,  that  you  nor  nobody  else  in  this  village  is 
in  any  position  to  judge  Silas  Evans.  If  there  ever 
was  a  good  man  it's  him ;  the  kindest,  truest,  best  hus 
band  that  any  woman  ever  had;  and  just  because  he's 
had  a  streak  of  hard  luck,  everybody's  against  him.  It 
makes  me  sick !  " 

"  But  the  children !  "  cried  Frances,  shooting  the  last 
arrow  in  her  quiver,  as  she  watched  her  hostess  tie  on  a 
hood  and  slip  into  a  jacket.  "  Surely,  you  are  not  going 
out  on  such  a  night  as  this !  " 

Mrs.  Evans  gave  her  one  glance  of  unspeakable  con 
tempt.  "  I  guess  I  don't  need  no  old  maid  to  tell  me 
my  duty  as  a  married  woman,"  icily.  "  Let  me  pass,  if 
you  please."  But  at  the  door,  she  paused  with  her  hand 
on  the  latch,  and  looked  backward.  "  I  would  take  it 
kindly,"  she  said,  "  if  you'd  look  after  the  kids  till 
Sile  and  I  get  back." 

And  the  Missionary  prepared  supper  and  played  with 
the  children,  with  a  song  in  her  heart.  She  had  paid  the 
first  instalment  on  a  debt. 


100 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 

1  HE  news  of  the  reconciliation  between  Evans  and 
his  wife  was  quickly  spread  through  the  village,  and 
after  a  due  discussion  of  all  data  bearing  on  the  case, 
Zenith  felt  itself  at  liberty  to  devote  its  entire  attention 
to  the  two  recent  arrivals,  the  Reverend  Hugh  Car- 
rothers,  habitually  referred  to  as  "  the  lunger  preacher," 
and  Mrs.  Jacques  O'Brien,  commonly  known  to  fame  as 
"  The  Black  Pearl." 

The  consensus  of  feminine  opinion  as  expressed  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society,  was  that  Mrs. 
O'Brien  was  in  reality  not  half  so  beautiful  as  glowing 
and  overdrawn  masculine  accounts  had  portrayed  her; 
was,  in  fact,  not  beautiful  at  all,  and  that  her  manifold 
and  much-heralded  charms  were  merely  a  figment  of 
man's  erratic  and  incomprehensible  imagination. 

And  to  the  surprise  of  a  community  to  which  nothing 
that  was  covered  was  not  ultimately  revealed,  and  which 
entered  freely  and  familiarly  at  back  doors,  she  failed 
to  comport  herself  in  the  spectacular  manner  which 
might  be  hoped  from  a  lady  who  bore  so  paradoxical  a 
nom  de  guerre,  and  so  vivid  a  past.  In  fact,  to  Zenith's 
intense  disappointment,  a  mild  and  flavourless  domes 
ticity  seemed  her  prevailing  trait.  She  proved  herself 
a  skilled  cook  and  housekeeper,  excelling  even  Mrs. 
Evans  in  certain  household  art;  she  even  devoted  her- 

101 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

self  to  so  tepid  an  amusement  as  gardening,  and,  as  the 
summer  advanced,  her  main  interest  seemed  to  be  in  the 
little  patch  of  ground  before  her  doors.  There  she  hoed, 
and  weeded,  and  pruned,  and  planted  all  summer  long 
among  the  strangely  scentless  and  brilliant  flowers  she 
loved,  preferring  this  occupation  to  any  others  offered, 
and  others  more  alluring  to  the  feminine  imagination 
were  offered,  for  contrary  to  some  opinions,  she  had 
achieved  a  social  position  at  once,  accepting  all  over 
tures  as  her  due,  but  never  seeking  them ;  in  fact  so  im 
pressive  was  her  indifference  and  the  general  dignity  of 
her  demeanour,  that  she  was  unanimously  elected  to 
membership  in  the  Aid  Society  without  one  dissenting 
vote. 

Frances  never  forgot  the  first  time  she  saw  "  The 
Pearl."  She  was  standing  with  her  elbows  on  the  post 
of  a  white  paling  gate,  gazing  out  at  the  mountains 
darkly  defined  against  the  gold  of  the  sunset  sky.  Be 
hind  her  was  a  garden  flaring  with  the  scarlet  and  3rellow 
flowers  which  had  just  been  set  out,  and  a  cottage  brave 
in  fresh  paint.  In  the  Zenith  of  straggling,  unpainted 
cabins,  yards  adorned  with  tin  cans,  broken  crockery, 
and  stray  bits  of  wire,  the  neat  vividness  of  house  and 
garden  presented  a  pictorial  and  artificial  effect,  toy- 
like  in  its  setting  of  austere  and  gloomy  mountains; 
but  if  the  little  dwelling  seemed  the  expression  of  a 
primitive  and  childlike  imagination,  the  woman  who 
leaned  upon  the  gate  was  real. 

She  had  been  standing  quite  still  for  a  long  time,  her 
gaze  fixed  on  the  mountains,  her  face  held  in  the  cup 

103 


CHAPTER     EIGHT 

of  her  hands,  a  long,  narrow,  white  face,  with  dark  eyes 
and  arched  brows,  which  gave  her  a  wistful  and  rather 
startled  expression;  but  her  hair  added  a  touch  of  in 
congruity  to  her  whole  appearance,  an  exotic  hint  of 
some  marked  dissonance  and  inharmony  of  character. 
Densely  black  at  the  roots  and  about  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  the  mass  twisted  about  her  head  was  a  strange, 
burnt-umber,  with  broad  strands,  as  yellow  as  corn, 
running  through  it,  evidently  coloured  by  a  natural 
process,  bleached  by  burning  suns. 

Her  husband  was  spading  a  bit  of  the  garden  behind, 
and  Frances  looked  at  him  with  a  deepening  of  the  curi 
osity  she  found  it  impossible  not  to  feel  in  this  much- 
discussed  pair.  She  thought  him  far  handsomer  than 
the  wife;  the  lithe  elegance  of  the  Latin  races  was  in 
his  carriage,  his  features  suggested  a  French  vivacity 
and  insouciance;  but  the  grey  eyes  of  his  Irish  father 
shone  in  his  weak,  emotional,  beautiful  face. 

So  much  for  a  first  impression  of  the  O'Briens  on  the 
Missionary's  mind.  Now  for  the  Rev.  Hugh  Car- 
rothers.  On  the  whole,  he  tallied  admirably  with  Mrs. 
Evans's  description  of  him.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  fellow 
of  about  thirty  years  of  age,  with  a  gentle,  rather  timid 
face,  and  mild  wondering  eyes.  In  coming  to  Zenith, 
he  had  had  no  intention  of  trying  to  wrest  from  the 
Missionary  her  charge ;  but  had  merely  followed  the 
advice  of  his  physician  and  sought  the  higher  altitudes 
and  the  occupation  of  manual  labour,  in  an  endeavour 
to  recuperate  from  a  severe  illness. 

He  had  eagerly  accepted  Frances's  invitation  to 
103 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

preach  on  the  first  Sunday  after  his  arrival  in  Zenith, 
and  on  that  occasion  every  bench  in  the  weather-beaten, 
unpainted  little  frame  church  was  occupied,  not  so 
much  for  the  sake  of  profiting  by  his  discourse  as  from 
a  desire  to  size  up,  as  it  were,  the  man ;  to  photograph 
through  the  mental  lenses  the  least  variation  of  facial 
expression,  the  slightest  peculiarity  of  speech  or  manner, 
that  one  might  be  able  creditably  to  hold  one's  own  in 
the  inevitable  and  exhaustive  discussion  of  personal 
traits  and  mental  equipment. 

To  the  casual  observer,  the  congregation  might  have 
appeared  but  a  meagre  gathering;  but  to  the  practised 
village  eye,  capable  of  comparing  it  to  the  ordinary 
Sunday  assemblage,  it  was  of  astonishing  proportions, 
for  the  inhabitants  of  Zenith  were  not  wont  to  take  the 
keen  edge  off  the  pleasure  of  church  attendance  by  a 
too  frequent  indulgence  in  its  privileges. 

"My!"  lisped  Mrs.  Thomas,  hastening  to  join  her 
friends  as  the  congregation  slowly  filed  out  of  the 
church,  and  throwing  back  from  her  face,  her  most 
cherished  possession — her  new  crepe  veil — "  Wasn't  he 
great?  I  do  like  it  when  they  begin  to  talk  about  the 
serene  Emberson  and  the  weighty  Carlyle.  Now,  Mis- 
sioner,  she's  always  handin'  out  our  plain  duty  to  us, 
an'  I  mus'  say  I  get  tired  of  it.  As  I  says  to  a  gentle 
man  from  over  to  Mount  Tabor  that  was  callin*  on  me 
the  other  night,  I  says,  '  There's  other  things  in  life  be 
sides  plain  duty.' J: 

"  I  ain't  so  crazy  about  him  as  some,"  announced  Mrs. 
Evans,  speaking  as  one  from  whom  a  somewhat  critical 

104 


CHAPTER     EIGHT 

opinion  would  be  expected,  and  with  due  importance, 
for  she  had  invited  Carrothers  to  take  dinner  in  her  now 
united  home,  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  dusty,  moun 
tain  road  awaiting  his  arrival.  "  When  he  kep'  shout- 
in',  '  Boys,  stay  on  the  farm ! '  I  couldn't  hardly  sit  still 
in  my  seat.  Lord  knows  we  can't  even  raise  potatoes  on 
these  rocks !  But  Dan  Mayhew  tells  me  that  he's  de 
posited  at  the  Mount  Tabor  bank,  had  money  left  him 
by  his  folks.  He's  a  widower,  girls.  His  wife's  only 
been  dead  a  year  an'  that's  the  best  time  to  ketch  'em. 
Now,  I  was  thinkin'  all  through  the  'sermon :  there's  my 
niece,  Susie  Hazen,  over  to  Red  Fox.  She's  a  good, 
steady  girl,  has  kep'  house  for  her  Paw  ever  since  her 
Maw  died.  She's  plain  an'  dresses  sober,  an'  wouldn't 
stir  up  no  envy  in  any  congregation  he  might  get  after 
his  lungs  are  cured  up.  Anyway,  I  don't  want  that 
Tom  Eagen  hangin'  around  her." 

Mrs.  Nitschkan,  her  Sunday  attire  unchanged  from 
its  week-day  masculine  simplicity,  snapped  her  fingers 
in  sturdy  contempt :  "  My  patience !  You  won't  find  one 
of  them  serious  moon-gazers  of  men  that  ever  run  after 
the  plain,  steady  kind.  They're  took  in  every  time  by 
some  flighty,  sassy  bit  of  uselessness." 

"  Yes,  Mis'  Evans,"  corroborated  Mrs.  Thomas  with 
a  serpent-like  wisdom  born  of  an  extensive  knowledge 
of  the  masculine  heart:  "You  just  watch.  You  can 
dangle  Susie  before  his  eyes  all  you're  a  mind  to;  but 
all  that  he'll  see'll  be  Myrtie  Swanstrom.  Times  when 
he  was  prayin'  most  fervent  this  mornin',  I  noticed  that 
he  kep'  peekin'  through  his  eyelashes  at  Myrtie.  Maybe, 

105 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

you  saw  her  sittin'  there  in  her  new  white  dress  that 
she's  been  breakin'  her  fingers  to  get  done.  There  she 
sat,  her  that  hadn't  darkened  the  church  door  for 
months,  lookin'  like  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  her  mouth." 

"  Myrtie's  entirely  too  enterprisin',"  commented 
Mrs.  Evans  shortly.  "  She's  got  a  plenty  beaux  now. 
Susie's  goin'  to  have  this  chance." 

Meanwhile,  the  unconscious  object  of  this  discussion, 
the  Rev.  Hugh  Carrothers,  had  lingered  to  assist  Miss 
Benson  in  gathering  up  the  hymn  books  and  closing 
and  locking  the  windows  and  door  of  the  church.  These 
tasks  accomplished,  he  hastened  to  join  the  little  group 
by  the  roadside,  and  turn  with  them  into  the  trail 
through  the  pines,  which,  Mrs.  Evans  explained,  was 
a  short  cut  to  her  door. 

As  he  walked,  he  looked  about  him  with  eyes  which 
had  not  lost  their  first  delight  in  the  majestic  panorama 
of  the  mountains.  Almost  in  a  night,  a  delicate  veil  of 
blossoms  had  covered  the  bare,  rocky  hillsides,  and  at 
every  step  one  trod  on  flowers.  With  a  new  and  ever 
increasing  enjoyment,  the  preacher  gazed  about  him, 
and  inhaled  the  pure,  balsamic  air,  with  its  rich 
fragrance  of  the  earth  and  the  pines.  Naturally,  his 
enjoyment  found  expression,  and  he  voiced  his  admira 
tion  of  the  village  site.  "  Ah,  ladies,  your  lines  have  in 
deed  fallen  in  pleasant  places.  Strength  must  surely 
come  from  these  hills." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Thomas,  not  vaingloriously,  but 
as  if  stating  a  fact,  "  we  certin'y  done  our  best  by  this 
place.  Nobody  can  say  we  ain't  tried  to  give  it  a  air 

106 


CHAPTER     EIGHT 

of  refinement.  We  four,  Mis'  Evans,  Mis'  Nitschkan, 
Mis'  Landvetter  and  myself  has  always  hung  together 
since  we  come  here,  an'  if  folks  ain't  done  what  was 
right,  we've  usually  had  the  strength  to  make  'em,  one 
way  or  another,  an'  took  no  back  talk,  either." 

Carrothers  looked  slightly  puzzled.  "  There  are  some 
rare  spiritual  natures  here,"  he  continued.  "  Now,  that 
little  Miss  Swanstrom  shows  a  touching  desire  to  help 
in  the  Sunday  school  work." 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  burst  of  coughing  from 
Mrs.  Nitschkan,  and  an  audible,  if  rather  smothered 
remonstrance  from  Mrs.  Thomas :  "  For  goodness'  sake, 
Mis'  Landvetter,  will  you  stop  nudgin'  me  in  the  ribs, 
you  most  knocked  me  off  the  cliff." 

"  Have  you  broke  ground  for  your  cabin  yet,  Mr. 
Carrothers?  "  asked  Mrs.  Evans  hastily,  mindful  of  the 
social  amenities. 

"  I  began  last  week,"  he  answered  with  pleased  inter 
est.  "  I  wish  you  ladies  would  help  me  some  with  the 
plans." 

"  Almighty  glad  to,"  responded  Mrs.  Evans,  in  her 
most  gracious  society  tones.  "  Now,  preacher,"  solici 
tously,  "  this  is  something  of  a  climb  for  a  tenderfoot 
and  we'd  best  rest  a  bit." 

As  they  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  blue  shadow  of 
the  pines,  idly  scanning  the  mountain  road  beneath  the 
ledge  of  rock  on  which  they  stood,  each  gaze  was  caught 
and  held  by  two  figures  strolling  up  the  sunny  expanse 
of  the  highway — a  straight,  sturdy  young  miner,  with 
a  dark,  handsome  face,  and  a  girl  whose  white  dress  was 

107 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

carefully  lifted  from  the  dust,  and  whose  rose-wreathed 
hat  was  hanging  half-way  down  her  back  from  the  pink 
ribbons  knotted  under  her  chin.  Her  attitude  expressed 
unmistakably  a  coquettish  and  petulant  aloofness  and 
an  exaggerated  indifference  to  the  evidently  impassioned 
and  expostulatory  nature  of  the  man's  remarks. 

"  Ah,  that  is  Miss  Swanstrom  now !  "  exclaimed  Car- 
rothers,  in  tones  of  interest,  "  and  who  is  the  young 
man  with  her?  " 

"  Frank  McGuire,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  briefly.  "  It's 
Jack  to-day,  Don  to-morrow,  and  Tom  the  day  after." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Myrtle  glanced  upward  and  smiled 
and  nodded.  The  smile  deepened  as  she  saw  Carrothers's 
bodyguard,  and  acting  on  a  sudden  mischievous  impulse, 
she  snatched  a  flower  from  her  belt,  and  hurled  it  to 
ward  them.  It  fell  a  few  feet  short  of  them,  half-way 
up  the  cliff,  and  Carrothers,  his  face  alight,  scrambled 
down  over  the  rocks,  rescued  the  blossom  and  fastened 
it  in  his  coat,  waving  his  hat,  as  Myrtle  stood  flushed 
and  laughing  beneath.  Perhaps  for  both,  an  added  spice 
to  the  situation  was  the  unconcealed  and  angry  re 
monstrance  of  McGuire. 

"  Gosh  A'mighty,"  murmured  Mrs.  Nitschkan  at  this 
unseemly  and  audacious  sight.  "  Ain't  she  a  bold  one !  " 

"  You  bet  if  she  vas  mine,  she'd  get  a  touch  of  de 
stick,"  chuckled  Mrs.  Landvetter.  But  Mrs.  Evans 
maintained  a  silence  more  ominous  than  speech. 

And  if  the  preacher  was  noticeably  absent-minded 
during  the  rest  of  the  stroll,  it  were  not  improbable  to 
conjecture  that  his  thoughts  were  more  fully  occupied 

108 


CHAPTER     EIGHT 

with  the  evanescent  bloom  on  Myrtle's  cheek,  and  the 
fleeting  radiance  of  her  youthful  eyes,  than  by  the  con 
versation  of  the  ladies  in  whose  company  he  walked. 

But  Myrtle  had,  so  to  speak,  fired  the  first  gun  with 
such  heedless  daring,  such  flaunting  and  reckless  dis 
regard  of  consequences,  that  Mrs.  Evans's  companions 
felt  themselves  justified  in  expecting  an  immediate  re 
turn  fire  and  were  rather  aggrieved  when  none  was 
forthcoming. 

Mrs.  Thomas,  in  dilating  upon  the  matter  after 
wards  said :  "  I  'most  expected  to  see  a  bolt  fall  from 
the  blue  and  hit  that  girl  dead,  tryin'  to  carry  on  with 
preacher  when  Mis'  Evans  was  takin'  him  home  to  din 
ner,  and  on  Sunday,  too!  You  bet  Mis'  Evans  '11  pay 
her  back." 

But  if  Mrs.  Evans  had  any  such  intentions,  she  kept 
them,  for  the  moment,  to  herself.  And  the  Zenith  mind 
continued  to  focus  itself  on  Carrothers,  and  to  dwell 
with  keen  and  undiminished  interest  upon  the  romantic 
possibilities  which  might  eventuate  from  the  presence 
of  a  preacher  and  a  widower  in  the  camp. 

Naturally,  Mr.  Herries  did  not  fail  to  comment  upon 
the  fact  when  he  dropped  in  for  an  evening  call  upon 
the  MissRoner.  "  I  feel  sorry  for  Carrothers,"  he 
grumbled.  "  He's  a  weak  sister ;  but  every  time  he  climbs 
out  of  that  cellar  he's  blasting  for  his  health,  there's 
five  or  six  women  setting  around  on  the  ground,  ready 
to  feed  him  pie  and  cake  and  tell  him  about  their  souls. 
If  he  expects  to  find  any  peace  in  these  hills  he'd  better 
move  up  above  timber  line. 

109 


"  Mrs.  Evans  has  wasted  no  time  in  getting  Susie 
Hazen  over  here  from  Red  Fox,"  with  one  of  his 
sardonic  grins.  "  Well,  of  course,  it  narrows  down  to  a 
race  between  Susie  and  Myrtle,  or  to  put  things  as  they 
really  are,  it's  a  race  between  Myrtle  and  Mrs.  Evans. 

"  Now,  far  back  as  I  can  recollect,"  he  scratched  his 
chin  and  looked  meditatively  at  the  ceiling,  "  Mrs. 
Evans  has  never  lost  out  more  than  two  or  three  times ; 
but  there's  plenty  of  fighting  blood  in  the  Swanstroms, 
and  in  my  opinion,  the  odds  are  even." 

"  Mr.  Herries,  you're  gossipping,"  Frances  re 
proached  him.  "  How  can  a  man  like  you  take  an  in 
terest  in  such  small  affairs  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked  hardily.  "  If  I  sat  here  and 
read  you  a  book,  you'd  say  nothing;  and  why  should 
you  complain  when  I  read  you  pages  from  the  greatest 
book  that  ever  was  written — the  book  of  human  life — 
'tis  comedy  and  tragedy,  and,"  shaking  his  head,  "  God 
knows  it's  a  sorry  tale,  a  black,  sorry  tale.  But,"  with 
a  return  of  interest,  "  have  you  been  keeping  your  eye 
on  the  Widow  Thomas?  Well,  you'd  better.  There's 
some  mischief  brewing  there,  and 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  on  the  door,  and  al 
most  before  Frances  could  rise  from  her  chair,  Ethel 
entered,  followed  by  Carrothers. 

Ethel's  face  was  paler  even  than  usual,  her  eyes  had 
a  strained,  excited  expression,  one  long  strand  of  her 
fair  hair  had  escaped  from  the  prim,  confining  security 
of  her  bonnet  and  waved  across  her  cheek. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Benson,"  she  cried,  scarcely  waiting  for 
110 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

Frances  to  greet  them,  "  you  won't  never  believe  it !  but 
me  an'  preacher  has  just  been  fired  from  the  Garvins'. 
Ain't  it  so,  Preacher?  " 

Carrothers  bowed  with  injured  dignity,  his  rather 
weak  mouth  trembling. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  went  on  Ethel  volubly  in  response  to 
Frances's  look  of  startled  inquiry  and  Herries's  rapid 
questions.  "  Walt  just  turned  us  out.  Ok,  he  tried  to 
do  it  polite,  an'  with  a  lot  of  'pologies;  but  he  said 
Lutie  was  too  weak  to  stand  any  of  our  racket ;  racket ! 
That's  just  the  word  he  said.  Wasn't  it,  Preacher?  " 

"  Ethel,  sit  down  here,"  said  Frances,  almost  forcing 
her  into  a  chair.  "  Now,  tell  me  what  this  is  all  about. 
What  were  you  doing?  " 

"  Doing !  "  cried  the  girl  passionately,  "  I  was  about 
my  Master's  business ;  that's  what.  Singin'  hymns, 
pray  in'  an'  exhortin',  that's  what  he  called  a  '  racket.' 
Tryin'  to  save  Lutie's  soul  from  hell.  It's  what  I'm 
thinkin'  of  day  and  night.  It's  got  to  be  done.  Oh, 
Missioner,"  wildly,  "  she  can't  be  let  die  in  her  sins,  you 
know  she  can't.  I  don't  mind  bein'  persecuted  for  right 
eousness'  sake.  They  can  beat  me  with  all  the  stripes 
they're  a  mind  to,  I'm  only  a  broken  an'  empty  vessel; 
but  I  do  think  Walt  might  have  respected  Preacher's 
cloth." 

"  It's  overalls  now,  since  he  took  to  digging  that 
cabin,"  Herries  put  in  slyly. 

"  Oh,  I  think  of  her  night  an'  day,  dyin'  in  her  sins, 
an'  with  her  affections  set  on  vanities,"  wailed  Ethel. 
"  An'  the  Devil's  gettin'  in  awful  good  work  now.  I  took 

111 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Mr.  Campbell  to  see  her  the  other  day,  and  there  was 
an  awful  scene;  an'  to-night  when  me  an'  Preacher 
might  have  made  some  headway,  we  were  turned  out; 
but  we  can't  give  up,  we  can't  give  up !  You're  the  one 
to  fight  the  Devil  now,  Missioner,  for  she's  got  to  be 
saved." 

"  Ethel,  be  quiet."  Frances  spoke  almost  sternly.  "  I 
am  sure  Mr.  trarvin  did  not  mean  to  be  rude  to  you.  He 
just  feels  that  Lutie  is  so  weak  that  she  cannot  bear 
this  excitement;  and  that  all  her  interest  in  clothes  and 
jewels  is  just  part  of  her  disease." 

"  That's  what  Satan  and  the  doctors  say,"  cried 
Ethel. 

"  We  are  told,"  said  Carrothers   hesitatingly,  "  that 

there  are  some  vessels  born  to  dishonour,  perhaps ' 

He  paused  under  the  steady  regard  of  Frances's  eye  and 
did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

Frances  glanced  quickly  at  Herries  and  experienced 
the  same  swift  mental  recoil  she  had  felt  once  or  twice 
before.  He  was  leaning  slightly  forward  in  his  chair, 
gazing  eagerly  from  Ethel  to  Carrothers.  His  expres 
sion  was  almost  wolfishly  eager,  and  there  was  a  keen, 
malicious  sparkle  in  his  eyes.  It  was  as  if  he  sought 
habitually  in  human  nature  for  the  weak,  foolish,  evil 
traits  and  was  overjoyed  when  his  search  was  rewarded. 

With  a  surging,  protective  sense,  Frances  threw  one 
arm  about  Ethel's  bowed  shoulders.  The  pale  glance  she 
threw  at  Herries  was  militant. 

"  The  battle  isn't  ours,  Ethel,"  she  said  gently. 
"  That  belongs  to  a  greater  power." 

112 


"  But  we're  the  instruments,"  wept  Ethel. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  murmured  Frances,  as  much  to  her 
self  as  to  the  girl  who  sobbed  on  her  shoulder. 

"  But  you're  the  only  one  that  can  do  anything 
now."  Ethel  clutched  her  with  tense  fingers.  "  It's  up 
to  you,  Missioner,  it's  up  to  you." 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  all,"  said  Frances,  her  pale 
face  grown  paler,  "  but  I  haven't  seen  the  way." 

Herries  picked  up  his  hat  and  stamped  across  the 
room  to  the  door.  "  Ethel's  turned  a  page  for  you  to 
read,"  he  said  in  the  Missionary's  ear.  "  I've  given  you 
good  advice  before,  haven't  I?  Well,  take  it  now.  Don't 
read  that  page." 


113 


CHAPTER    NINE 

I T  is  only  in  the  great  hives  of  men,  where  people  press 
closely  upon  each  other,  where  all  day  we  jostle  and 
push  our  fellows,  and  all  night  we  hear  the  sound  of 
their  footfalls  and  laughter,  that  we  ever  achieve  seclu 
sion.  In  a  village  we  afford  a  spectacle. 

So  Mrs.  Thomas,  who  was  passing  through  an  in 
evitable,  psychological  crisis,  fancied  perhaps  that  her 
various  emotions,  doubts  and  perplexities  were  con 
cealed  in  the  depths  of  her  soul,  never  dreaming  that 
she  was  constantly  under  observation  and  being  studied 
as  microscopically  as  ever  was  beetle  glued  upon  a  card. 

Mrs.  Thomas,  to  put  the  fact  succinctly,  was  floun 
dering  helplessly  in  the  untried  seas  of  a  lately  arrived 
freedom,  struggling  in  some  vague,  instinctive  effort  to 
find  herself ;  for  to  every  life,  even  in  the  most  unthink 
ing  and  unawakened,  there  comes  a  moment  when  the 
individual  makes  an  effort,  perhaps  abortive,  to  express 
himself,  and  the  soul  strives  to  burst  into  flower. 

And  it  was  this  blind  effort  which,  as  her  friends  re 
marked,  "  had  changed  Marthy  Thomas  and  made  her 
act  queer." 

Married  in  early  youth,  she  had  long  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  dominance  of  a  stronger  nature.  The  first 
few  days  after  her  husband's  death  she  had  passed  in 
a  daze,  her  mind  benumbed ;  but  the  sordidly  spectacular 

114 


CHAPTER     NINE 

event  of  the  funeral  had  roused  her  to  a  sense  of  the 
possibilities  of  the  situation. 

She  felt  the  quick  response  of  her  sensuous  tempera 
ment  to  the  rows  of  Red  Men  marching  unevenly  along 
the  dusty  road  to  the  discordant  strains  of  the  funeral 
march  from  Saul,  and  then  slowly  filing  into  the  un- 
painted  little  church.  She  thrilled  to  the  importance  of 
her  position,  as  she,  too,  entered,  shrouded  in  sombre 
weeds  and  supported  on  either  side  by  a  sun-burned 
brother,  in  unaccustomed  black,  who  had  journeyed 
from  a  neighbouring  camp  for  the  occasion. 

Afterward  followed  days  when  the  consolatory  offices 
of  friends  waxed  and  then  waned,  and  she  had  declined 
from  a  tragedy  to  a  commonplace,  and  the  prosaic  world 
asserted  its  claim.  She  was  at  once  worried  and  dazzled, 
too,  by  the,  to  her,  enormous  responsibility  of  the  in 
surance  money. 

This  sum  served  as  the  conveniently  shifting  founda 
tion  of  many  a  towering  castle  in  Spain,  for,  as  she 
gradually  realised  that  the  weight  of  Thomas's  person 
ality  had  really  been  lifted,  her  essentially  romantic 
and  emotional  nature  knew  a  period  of  bloom  and 
efflorescence,  all  the  more  exotic  because  so  long 
repressed. 

And  Nature,  too,  had  thrown  off  the  stern  thrall  of 
winter.  Almost  in  a  single  night,  the  bare,  bleak  moun 
tains  rippled  with  the  pink  and  blue  of  countless 
penstemon,  and  the  silvery  green  of  the  sage  bushes. 
The  magpies  and  the  blue  jays  fluttered  through  the 
pine  trees,  and  the  chipmunks  whisked  over  the  rocks, 

115 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

and  Mrs.  Thomas's  heart  rose  up  and  answered  the  sum 
mons  of  the  spring. 

Thomas  had  been  a  dour  creature,  with  a  highly  cul 
tivated  gift  of  sarcasm,  and  an  uncanny  way  of  divin 
ing  her  hidden  impulses  and  dragging  them  to  the  merci 
less  light  of  ridicule,  thus  skilfully  circumventing  any 
possible  expression  of  them ;  so  day  by  day,  as  she  be 
came  more  accustomed  to  the  absence  of  this  cog  upon 
her  actions,  her  imagination  fluttered  its  newly  unbound 
wings  and  ventured  in  wider  and  wider  circles. 

The  conversation  with  her  companions  and  their  ami 
able  and  authoritative  dictation  as  to  the  best  method 
of  spending  the  insurance  money,  at  first  caused  Mrs. 
Thomas  much  perturbation,  but  she  finally  followed  the 
bent  of  her  mind,  and  discarded  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  rak 
ish  suggestions  for  the  more  alluring  one  of  refurnish 
ing  the  house. 

Secure  then,  in  the  approbation  of  her  friends,  who 
were  capable  of  displaying  well  exercised  critical  judg 
ment  and  marked  executive  ability  when  dealing  with 
the  affairs  of  others,  she  joyously  absorbed  herself  in 
cleaning  and  adorning  her  home;  but  when  the  pillow 
shams  on  the  thick  parlour  bed  were  properly  bordered 
and  inserted  with  lace,  the  parlour  set  was  glaring  with 
red  plush,  and  the  kitchen  fresh  with  whitewash  and 
sticky  with  varnish,  when  any  lingering  sense  of  obliga 
tion  to  Thomas  was  fully  liquidated  by  the  planting  of 
a  headstone  at  one  end  of  the  grave,  and  a  rose  bush  at 
the  other,  then,  with  a  half-guilty  sense  of  finality,  she 
resolutely  closed  the  portals  of  the  past,  and  fingered 

116 


CHAPTER     NINE 

with  fascinated  interest  and  curiosity  the  key  which 
was  to  open  the  door  of  the  future. 

At  first,  her  long-hobbled  mind  merely  wandered 
within  the  circumscribed  radius  of  the  present;  but 
when,  at  last,  it  dawned  upon  her  that  she  was  free  to 
follow  the  dictates  of  her  whim,  then  a  sense  of  ennui 
and  discouragement  at  the  narrow  limits  of  her  environ 
ment  overcame  her.  There  was  no  more  setting  of  the 
house  in  order  to  be  done.  Her  children  were  beyond  the 
care  of  babyhood,  and  had  not  yet  arrived  at  the  age 
when  maternal  ambition  would  brood  over  them. 

While  in  this  frame  of  mind  she  read  in  the  Mount 
Tabor  Review,  a.  weekly  paper  which  disseminated  the 
news  of  the  entire  county,  the  fact  that  Professor  Alexis 
Hartshorn,  the  distinguished  astrologer,  palmist,  crys 
tal  gazer  and  psychic  reader,  was  located  at  Mount 
Tabor  for  a  few  weeks,  and  could  be  consulted  at  his 
rooms  at  Lament  Street  from  9  A.  M.  until  9  P.  M.  each 
day.  His  picture  accompanied  the  advertisement — a 
dark,  poetic  face,  with  a  touch  of  mephistophelian 
cynicism,  eternally  alluring  to  the  feminine  imagination. 

Mrs.  Thomas  gazed  long  and  admiringly  at  the 
smudgy  halftone,  read  and  reread  the  advertisement, 
and  then  cutting  it  out  with  the  scissors,  placed  it 
thoughtfully  between  the  leaves  of  the  family  Bible 
with  as  much  of  an  expression  of  decision  on  her  face 
as  it  was  capable  of  assuming. 

The  next  morning  she  hired  from  the  village  black 
smith  shop,  which  also  did  duty  as  the  village  livery 
stable,  the  sole  vehicle  it  had  to  rent,  a  rattling  buck- 

117 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

board  with  but  one  uncertain  seat.  This  wagon  was 
drawn  by  an  old  and  jaded  white  horse,  whose  reluctant 
head  she  turned  in  the  direction  of  Mount  Tabor,  and 
slapping  the  lines  on  his  back,  drove  slowly  off  with  a 
lambent  excitement  and  fear  in  her  wide,  appealing  eyes. 

From  that  day,  Mrs.  Thomas  was  another  woman, 
abstracted,  absorbed,  remote.  Her  friends  commented 
on  her  withdrawal  from  the  common  interest ;  but  failed 
to  convince  themselves  with  an  adequate  explanation  of 
the  alteration. 

"  It  may  be  grief,  or  it  may  be  comin'  into  property ; 
but  Thomas's  takin'  off  has  certainly  changed  her," 
remarked  Mrs.  Evans,  as  the  group  of  intimates  sat 
sewing  one  June  afternoon  in  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  cabin. 

"  I  guess  she's  grieved  more  as  we  give  her  credit 
for,"  remarked  Mrs.  Landvetter  ruminatively.  "  Veil, 
you  can't  neffer  tell." 

"  Gosh  a'mighty ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  with 
robust  contempt.  "  Grievin' !  Well,  if  I'd  a  bin  in  her 
shoes,  I'd  be  out  kickin'  up  my  heels  in  pastur'  this 
minute.  Thomas!  My  Lord!  You  know,  girls,  what  a 
raspin'  tongue  he  had,  an'  how  his  pockets  was  just 
lined  with  glue  when  it  come  to  pullin'  any  money  out 
of  'em." 

"  Veil,  he  vasn't  t'rowin'  his  money  avay  like  Walt 
Garvin,  anyvay,"  contended  Mrs.  Landvetter. 

"Ain't  it  awful ! "  Mrs.  Evans  sighed.  "  Why,  Mr. 
Carrothers  was  sayin'  only  last  night  that  he'd  took  a 
pencil  an'  paper  an'  calculated  on  how  many  mission 
aries  could  be  sent  to  the  heathen  on  what  Walt  paid 

118 


CHAPTER     NINE 

for  a  new  necklace  for  Lutie  this  last  week.  I  forget 
how  many  he  said,  an  awful  lot.  You  see  in  those  hot 
countries  where  missionaries  mostly  go,  it  don't  cost 
much  to  live.  They  can't  wear  many  clothes,  an'  they 
just  stir  up  a  mess  of  rice,  or  pick  a  cocoanut  or  a 
banana  off  a  tree.  It's  awful,  Preacher  says,  to  think 
of  all  those  souls  lost  for  the  sake  of  Lutie's  vanity." 

"  Tink  of  all  dat  money  she  could  save,"  gloated  Mrs. 
Landvetter,  an  avid  gleam  in  her  eye.  "  It's  awful." 

"  Speakin'  of  lightmindedness ! "  remarked  Mrs. 
Nitschkan,  "  I  was  callin'  on  Mis'  O'Brien  yesterday, 
an'  I  says  to  her :  '  Why,  wasn't  you  at  the  last  meetin' 
of  the  Ladies'  Aid  Society? '  An'  she  answers  cool  as  a 
cucumber,  '  I  got  somepin'  better  to  do  than  set  around 
with  a  lot  of  hens.'  '  You  don't  know  your  camp,5  I 
says.  '  Us  hens,  as  you  call  us,  is  better  fellows  than 
them  that's  settin'  round  on  your  porch  every  night.' 
Well,  she  threw  me  one  of  her  devilish  looks,  an'  she 
says  as  prim  as  you  please,  {  Them's  Shock's  friends.' 
I  burst  right  out  laughin'.  Why,  she's  even  got  the 
lunger  preacher  there,  and " 

But  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  revelations  regarding  the  Black 
Pearl  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  shrill  exclamation 
from  Mrs.  Evans,  who  had  half -risen  from  her  seat  by 
the  window,  and  holding  aside  the  straight,  white  muslin 
curtain,  was  peering  at  what,  judging  from  the  expres 
sion  of  her  face,  must  have  been  a  strange  and  unwonted 
spectacle.  "  Girls,"  in  a  queer,  strained  voice,  "  is  my 
eyes  gone  bad  or  my  head?  For  Heaven's  sake!  Look 
at  this!" 

119 


Along  the  mountain  road,  its  head  pointed  to  the  dis 
tant  peaks,  ambled  the  dejected  white  horse;  behind  it 
rattled  the  wagon  with  its  swaying  wheels,  and  high 
upon  the  uncertain  seat  were  perched  Mrs.  Thomas  and 
a  man — the  unidealised  and  coarsened  reality  of  Profes 
sor  Alexis  Hartshorn.  Mrs.  Thomas's  beloved  crepe  veil 
floated  behind  her,  and  above  her  best  black  gown  her 
pink  and  white  face  smiled  with  a  tremulous  and  April- 
like  joy.  She  appeared  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  behind 
the  wagon  trotted  a  tow-headed  child  of  about  six  years, 
tears  raining  down  its  dirty  little  cheeks,  while  from  its 
mouth  burst  a  series  of  ear-piercing  wails :  "  Ma — ma 
I — wa' — a-go — too-o-o."  Further  back  in  the  road  a 
ragged  urchin,  a  year  or  two  older,  indifferent  to  his 
parent's  pleasuring,  scooped  up  handfuls  of  the  deep 
yellow  dust  and  threw  it  high  in  the  air,  to  descend 
again  upon  his  head  in  a  sifting  cloud. 

As  the  pair  on  the  wagon  vanished  in  the  same  golden 
haze,  the  women  who  had  crowded  to  the  window  with 
panting  ejaculations  of  surprise  and  consternation 
turned  away  and  sank  weakly  into  their  seats. 

"  Veil,  my  goodness  gracious ! "  sighed  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter,  mechanically  seizing  the  coffeepot,  "  who  vas 
dat  ?  One  of  dem  brudders  of  hers  ?  Hein  ?  " 

"  Hm-m-m,"  sniffed  Mrs.  Evans  significantly.  "  She 
was  wearing  her  best  veil  and  her  Sunday  dress — in  this 
dust,  too.  Does  that  look  like  brother?  Not  much. 
Pass  me  the  teapot,  Nitschkan,  I  could  keel  right  over." 

"  Veil,  who  you  s'pose  it  vas  ?  " 

"How  should  I  know?"  replied  Mrs.  Evans  tartly. 
120 


CHAPTER     NINE 

"  I  only  know  from  the  way  she's  got  up  an'  the  way 
she  looks,  that  she  ain't  entertainin'  no  relations.  An' 
this  soon,  too !  I  don't  think  it  looks  real  nice." 

"  Ho,  ho !  "  chorused  Mrs.  Nitschkan.  "  Marthy's 
got  a  beau.  Well,  she  surely  ain't  lost  no  time." 

"  Und  dose  kids,  too,"  sighed  Mrs.  Landvetter. 
"  Vasn't  dey  dirty  now  ?  " 

"  They  ain't  no  more  neglected  than  the  rose  bush 
she  planted  at  Thomas's  grave,"  remarked  Mrs.  Evans. 
"  Paid  two  fifty  for  it,  stuck  it  in  the  earth,  an'  then 
never  went  back  to  give  it  a  drop  of  water." 

"  I  do'  know  if  she  ever  did  get  the  stones  put  in  his 
grave.  For  all  she  knows  the  kiotes  have  scratched  him 
up  an'  et  him,"  said  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  with  gloomy  relish. 

"  Like  as  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Evans  abstractedly ; 
but  her  brow  had  cleared.  "  I  tell  you  what,  girls,  I 
think  someone  had  ought  to  talk  to  Marthy  Thomas." 

"  Someone  seems  to  be  tryin'  to  this  afternoon," 
chuckled  Mrs.  Nitschkan.  "  An'  to-night  Dan  Mayhew 
an'  Willie  Barker  '11  be  showin'  up." 

"  Willie  Barker's  engaged,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  con 
temptuously.  "  An'  Dan  Mayhew  tends  to  her  business. 
He  wouldn't  look  at  Marthy  Thomas  anyway,  when  he 
could  have  his  pick  of  all  the  girls  in  the  county.  Still, 
it  don't  look  right  for  her  to  be  cavortin'  'round  this 
soon,  an'  I  think  Missioner  is  the  one  to  speak  to  her. 
Maybe  this  is  one  of  them  soul  problems  she  preached 
about  last  Sunday." 

"  Say,  wasn't  she  great ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nitschkan 
enthusiastically,  slapping  her  knee.  "  Her  eyes  were 

ra 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

rolled  up,  and  her  face  kind  of  shone.  I  says  to  her 
comin'  out,  I  says,  £  Missioner,  you  minded  me  this 
mornin'  of  the  serpent  that  was  lifted  up  in  the  wilder 
ness.  I  bet  he  didn't  look  no  nicer  than  you.'  " 

"  Well,  that  ain't  the  question  now,"  Mrs.  Evans 
spoke  impatiently.  "  I  guess  I'll  put  on  my  hat  an'  go 
up  an'  see  Missioner  this  evening — kind  o'  point  out 
her  duty  about  talkin'  to  Marthy." 

It  was  agreed  by  the  other  two  ladies  that  she  could 
have  thought  of  no  better  plan. 

Now  Frances,  either  because  she  lived  near  to  the 
highway,  or  because  she  was  one  of  those  personalities 
bound  to  be  sought,  had  grown  accustomed  to  receiving 
many  visitors.  Therefore,  it  was  no  especial  surprise 
to  her  when  Mrs.  Evans  dropped  in  for  an  evening  call. 
She  saw  the  small,  active  figure  hurrying  up  the  hill 
side  in  the  late  twilight. 

"  I  jus'  thought  I'd  come  up  and  set  with  you  a 
spell,  Missioner.  Sile,  he's  gone  to  see  Walt  Garvin. 
You  know  Walt's  made  him  foreman  over  at  the  Mont 
d'Or.  Ain't  it  grand!  My!  I  wisht  I  could  think  of 
somethin'  to  do  for  that  poor  thing  perishin'  in  her  laces 
an'  jewels.  She's  right  fond  of  my  cookin',  an'  I  been 
able  to  help  a  little  that  way  though." 

"  Oh,  poor  Lutie ! "  cried  Frances,  with  a  break  in 
her  voice.  Her  face  looked  pale,  there  were  black  lines 
under  her  eyes.  "  You  can't  be  with  her,  Mrs.  Evans, 
as  much  as  I've  been  and  not  learn  to  love  her.  She's  so 
helpless  and  dependent,  and  she  never  complains.  She 
tries  so  hard  to  get  away  from  her  suffering.  That's 

122 


CHAPTER     NINE 

the  hardest  thing  to  bear;  but  she's  just  trying  to  dis 
tract  her  mind  with  the  foolish  things." 

"  'Course,"  agreed  Mrs.  Evans.  "  Well,  you  surely 
been  awful  good  to  her,  Missioner;  but  who  ain't  you 
good  to  ?  "  real  gratitude  in  her  voice.  "  I  tell  you,  I'll 
never  forget  what  you  done  for  Sile  an'  me,  if  I  live  to 
be  a  thousand  years.  Sile  feels  awful  kind  to  me  for 
sacrificin'  myself  to  give  up  the  hack.  An'  I  let  him  feel 
that  way,  you  bet;  though  between  you  an'  me,  I  was 
gettin'  pretty  tired  of  spendin'  half  my  time  drivin'  up 
an'  down  in  all  kinds  of  weather.  I  s'pose  you  ain't  heard 
that  I  took  up  something  new?  "  with  importance. 

"  Something  new  ?  "  repeated  the  Missionary. 

Mrs.  Evans  nodded. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  took  the  agency  for  Vitina.  Vitina's  the 
best  all  round  medicine  for  man  and  beast  that  ever  was 
put  up.  You  know  what  a  way  we  got  to  live  here.  The 
nearest  doctor  ten  miles  over  the  pass,  an'  us  either  dead 
or  got  well  before  he  gets  here.  I  was  surprised  at  Sile, 
when  I  told  him  I'd  took  the  agency.  He  says :  *  Well, 
I  don't  like  it,  Effie,  but  since  you  got  to  be  in  business, 
I  guess  this  is  quieter  than  drivin'  the  hack.  That  was 
such  a  darned  show-off  game;  kind  of  advertised  to 
everybody  that  I  couldn't  keep  you.' ' 

" '  Oh,  this  ain't  no  money-makin'  concern,'  I  says, 
'  it's  jus'  sort  of  saunterin'  in  some  of  the  back  doors 
of  a  few  particular  friends  an'  handin'  out  somethin' 
that's  goin'  to  ease  their  lives.'  You  see,"  concluded 
Mrs.  Evans,  with  the  sigh  of  the  capable  in  dealing  with 
the  incapable  world,  "  husbands  have  got  to  be  man- 

123 


aged.  They  ain't  got  no  real  sense.  I'm  makin'  quite  a 
little  on  the  side.  I  calculate  to  get  enough  to  get 
Celora's  teeth  fixed  and  buy  me  that  piece  of  black  silk 
over  in  Hayman's  window.  Who's  that? "  she  asked 
suddenly,  as  two  figures  passed  through  the  deepening 
twilight  and  on  down  the  hill.  "  I  do  believe  it's  the 
lunger  preacher  and  Myrtle  Swanstrom.  Missioner,  I 
think  Myrtle  had  ought  to  be  remonstrated  with. 
Everybody  in  camp's  talkin'  about  the  way  she's  treat- 
in'  Frank  McGuire.  Yes,  she  had  ought  to  be  re 
monstrated  with,  and  you're  the  one  to  do  it." 

"I'll  wait  until  I  know  more  about  the  subject,"  said 
Frances  coolly.  She  was  not  one  to  submit  lightly  to 
dictation. 

"  An'  Marthy  Thomas ! "  continued  Mrs.  Evans. 
"  She's  been  actin'  queer  lately ;  us  girls  suspicioned  it 
was  a  case  of  man,  but  we  couldn't  find  out  who,  an'  this 
afternoon  we  all  saw  her  drivin'  around  with  some 
stranger, — yes,"  nodding  her  head,  "  an'  we  sort  of 
thought  if  you'd  go  to  see  her  an'  find  out  who  it  was, 
it  might  help  some." 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Evans,  I  shall  not  do  anything  of  the 
kind,"  returned  Frances  firmly.  "  What  right  have  I  to 
interfere  in  Mrs.  Thomas's  affairs  ?  " 

Mrs.  Evans  rose  with  a  short  laugh.  "  You'll  be  asked 
to  'fore  long.  You  see!  Marthy'll  get  herself  into  some 
kind  of  a  scrape,  an'  then  sit  an'  cry  till  the  rest  of  us 
turns  in  and  pulls  her  out  of  it.  It's  happened  before 
now,  an'  it'll  happen  again.  Just  wait." 


CHAPTER    TEN 

I_jVEN  so  authoritative  and  cocksure  a  lady  as  Mrs. 
Evans  had  no  idea  how  prophetic  were  her  parting 
words  to  Frances,  nor  how  soon  the  prophecy  they  con 
tained  was  to  be  fulfilled ;  but  as  she  climbed  the  hill  to 
the  Missionary's  cabin  two  or  three  mornings  later, 
there  was  an  air  of  I-told-you-so  importance  about  her, 
which,  perhaps,  was  only  natural  under  the  circum 
stances. 

Frances  sat  in  her  doorway  in  the  dancing  light  and 
shade  of  the  quivering  aspens  which  grew  thickly  about 
the  cabin.  Several  chipmunks,  a  magpie,  and  a  blue- 
jay  or  so,  fed  amicably  from  a  bowl  of  cooked  oatmeal 
without  the  door ;  but  Frances  Benson's  gaze  was  not  on 
them,  nor  on  the  open  Bible  on  her  knee.  It  was  fixed 
on  the  ethereal  blue  deeps  above  the  tree  tops.  Her  lips 
moved  slightly,  and  in  her  eyes  were  the  exalted  dreams, 
the  unseeing  rapture  of  the  mystic  who  has  bridged  time 
and  space,  joy  and  sorrow,  with  prayer. 

As  Mrs.  Evans  approached,  the  Missionary's  gaze 
dropped  from  the  skies  and  looked  through  and  beyond 
that  feminine  epitome  of  practicality. 

"  It's  all  love  and  beauty,  Mrs.  Evans,  the  whole  uni 
verse."  Her  finger  traced  the  lines  in  the  Bible  and  her 
voice  thrilled.  "  '  If  we  love  not  our  brother  whom  we 
have  seen,  how  shall  we  love  God,  whom  we  have  not 
seen  ? '  " 

125 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Mrs.  Evans  looked  at  her  with  protecting  pride  and 
admiration.  "  That's  all  right,  Miss  Benson  ;  but  we  got 
to  get  away  from  God  to  man  this  morning.  Marthy 
Thomas  has  got  a  soul  problem,  and  'course  she  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  it  no  more  'n  a  kitten.  She  sent 
Vi'let  an'  Clemency  over  with  a  note  a  while  back,  and  I 
just  loped  on  to  find  you." 

She  held  out  a  crumpled  bit  of  paper  whereon  was 
scrawled  in  painful  characters : 


Mis  Evans,  won't  you  get  Missioner  and  come  here.     I'm  in  a 
muss  and  suffortin  for  it 

M.  THOMAS. 


Frances  smoothed  it  out  and  read  it.  "  Poor  Mrs. 
Thomas,"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  becoming  practical 
the  moment  there  was  work  for  her  hands  to  do.  She 
picked  up  her  hat,  and  leaving  the  door  open  for  the 
jays  and  the  chipmunks  to  enter  at  will,  she  and  Mrs. 
Evans  set  out  for  the  newly  painted  Thomas  residence. 
There,  in  the  cool,  white  kitchen,  Mrs.  Landvetter  and 
Mrs.  Nitschkan  were  busying  themselves  preparing  tea 
and  coffee,  while  Mrs.  Thomas  sat  beside  a  table,  limp 
and  dejected.  There  was  a  droop  to  her  mouth  like  a 
child's,  and  her  eyes  slowly  filled  and  brimmed  over  with 
tears  which  she  occasionally  wiped  away  with  a  wet 
handkerchief  rolled  into  a  tight  ball. 

"  Well,  here  we  are,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  with  loud 
cheerfulness,  as  she  and  Miss  Benson  entered.  "  Now, 
one  of  you  girls  pour  us  out  a  cup  apiece,  an'  Mis' 

126 


CHAPTER     TEN 

Thomas,  you  jus'  begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell  Mis- 
sioner  all  about  it.  She'll  get  you  out  of  any  scrape 
you're  in,  won't  you,  Missioner?  " 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Frances,  with  sincere  kindliness. 

Mrs.  Thomas  gulped  convulsively  once  or  twice  and 
rolled  and  unrolled  her  handkerchief.  "  It's  about  the 
Perfessor,"  she  wailed.  "  At  first,  he  was  awful  nice. 
He  come  to  see  me  often  an'  he  certainly  talked  lovely. 
He  quoted  poetry  and  everything,  like  Thomas  never  did 
even  before  we  was  married;  an'  then  he  got  to  askin* 
me  how  I  was  fixed  an'  I  told  him.  He  said  he  had  to 
know  before  he  could  foretell  the  futur'  for  me,  an'  then 
he  was  nicer  than  ever.  He  come  right  out  an'  said  he 
loved  me  so  that  he  couldn't  sleep  at  nights  for  think- 
in'  of  me." 

Upon  the  faces  of  her  listening  friends  dawned  that 
faintly  sarcastic  expression  which  women  assume  on 
learning  that  a  man  is  actually  blinded  by  the  fascina 
tions  of  one  of  their  sex.  Having  no  illusions  concern 
ing  each  other,  they  cannot  but  regard  with  contempt 
this  pitiable  evidence  of  masculine  dementia. 

The  practical,  shrewd  kindliness  had  gradually  faded 
from  Frances's  eyes,  leaving  them  puzzled  and  a  little 
impatient.  There  occurred  to  her  no  remedy  in  the  whole 
pharmacopoeia  of  a  soul  doctor  which  can  minister  to  a 
woman's  infatuation. 

And  as  she  listened  to  Mrs.  Thomas's  tale,  the  spirit 
of  warm  helpfulness  with  which  she  had  sought  one  in 
trouble,  congealed  to  something  perfunctory  and  pro 
fessional,  while  her  impatience  was  becoming  vital.  As 

127 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

for  Mrs.  Thomas,  she  was  about  to  acquire  the  bitter 
knowledge  that  while  in  sickness  or  in  sorrow,  women 
turn  instinctively  to  one  another,  feeling  intuitively  that 
they  will  thus  find  the  truest  comfort,  the  completest 
understanding  of  their  needs;  in  love,  they  must  fly  to 
the  wilderness,  for  they  stand  alone,  aloof,  alien  to 
feminine  sympathy. 

"  He  said,"  continued  Mrs.  Thomas,  with  tearful 
pride,  "  that  he  couldn't  even  eat  'less  he  was  with  me ; 
but  I'll  tell  you  what,  he  certainly  did  make  up  for  it 
then.  They  hasn't  been  an  evening  that  he's  et  with  me 
that  I  haven't  been  cookin'  all  day  an*  not  enough  left 
to  feed  the  chickens." 

"  Hm-m-m,  I  bet  you  got  to  keep  cookin'  between  him 
an'  Willie  Barker  an'  Dan  Mayhew.  It  seems  to  me  they 
keep  the  path  to  your  gate  warm,"  cried  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan  rollickingly. 

A  faint,  pink  flush  crept  up  Mrs.  Thomas's  face. 
"  Willie  Barker  says  he's  got  too  much  respect  for  me 
to  try  an'  be  steady  company  until  my  term  of  mourn 
ing  is  up;  but  he  says  he  don't  think  it's  right  to  the 
living  to  mourn  for  the  dead ;  an'  as  for  Dan  Mayhew, 
he  comes  to  talk  business." 

"  How  much  does  he  know  of  this  here  Hartshorn?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Evans  pointedly. 

"  He  don't  know  nothin',"  returned  Mrs.  Thomas 
reluctantly. 

The  women  cast  meaning  glances  at  one  another  over 
their  cups. 

'*  Veil,  vy  don'  you  go  to  him  an'  get  him  to  shoo  dis 
128 


CHAPTER     TEN 

feller  off,  if  you  vants  to  get  rid  of  him  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Landvetter,  with  Teuton  common  sense. 

"  I  do'  know  if  I  do  want  to  get  rid  of  him,"  mur 
mured  Mrs.  Thomas  forlornly.  "  He  can  be  awful  nice ; 
an'  our  courtship  was  just  like  a  book  until  I  hesitated 
about  the  money.  Then  he  come  every  day  and  said  it 
made  him  feel  real  impatient  to  see  me  actin'  like  I 
didn't  trust  him.  It's  the  insurance  money,  you  know. 
He  says  he  wouldn't  lay  a  finger  on  a  penny  of  it ;  but 
he's  got  to  save  me  from  a  awful  fate  he  sees  hangin' 
over  me.  He  says  he  sees  it  in  the  stars  an'  in  the 
crystal,  an'  that  it's  wrote  on  the  cards  too  plain  not  to 
believe.  It's  something  sudden,  like  bein'  struck  by 
lightning,  if  I  don't  get  that  money  out  of  my  hands 
before  the  third  of  June.  He  says  the  only  way  he  sees 
to  save  me,  is  to  give  him  the  money  an'  not  ask  any 
questions  about  it  for  six  months. 

"  He's  awful  cross  with  me  because  I  do'  know  what 
to  do,  an'  he  comes  over  every  day  'most,  an'  sets  there 
in  that  chair  you're  in,  Mis'  Evans,  an'  glares  at  me 
with  them  gimlet  eyes,  until  I'm  so  scared  I  'most  die. 
An' " — at  this  point  Mrs.  Thomas's  sobs  were  un 
restrained — "  he  says  that  this  must  be  kept  so  awful 
secret,  for  if  ever  he  hears  of  me  tellin'  a  livin'  soul, 
he'll  work  some  kind  of  a  conjurin'  game  on  me,  an' 
also  publish  the  letters  I  wrote  him  in  the  Mount  Tabor 
Review." 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  do  you  care  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Nitschkan. 

Mrs.  Thomas  flamed  like  a  peony  and  caught  her 
129 


breath  once  or  twice  before  she  answered.  "  They're  so 
awful  soft,"  she  said,  at  last. 

Frances  gave  a  quick  exclamation  of  impatience. 
"  Oh,  Mrs.  Thomas !  How  could  you  do  anything  so 
foolish?  How  did  you  happen  to  meet  this  man  in  the 
first  place  ?  " 

"  There  wasn't  nothing  doin'  here,"  Mrs.  Thomas 
said  simply.  "  Willie  Barker  an'  Dan  Mayhew  wasn't 
droppin'  in  then.  Oh,"  she  wailed,  with  something  like 
despair  in  her  voice,  "  I  thought  I  was  goin'  to  like  bein' 
a  widow;  but  it's  terrible  lonesome.  When  I  first  got 
free,  I  thought  I  was  goin'  to  have  the  time  of  my  life ; 
but  it  ain't  so  much  fun  as  I  thought  it  was  goin'  to  be 
not  to  have  Thomas  jawin'  me  all  day  long." 

"Veil,  you  can't  neffer  tell,"  remarked  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter,  in  surprised  consternation,  her  lace  needles  poised 
in  air. 

It  was  noticeable  during  the  interview  with  this 
woman  she  had  come  to  succour,  that  Frances's  eyes  had 
grown  constantly  harder,  and  now,  something  like  con 
tempt  shadowed  them.  Her  will,  her  executive  ability, 
her  skill,  born  of  intuition  and  long  practice  in  disen 
tangling  "  soul  problems,"  were  powerless  when  opposed 
to  the  soft,  immovable,  wavering  force  which  she  now 
encountered.  To  the  woman  floundering  in  the  bog  of 
mistakes,  mud-stained,  worn  with  the  struggle,  she 
stretched  forth  her  loving  hands;  but  for  one  so  ele 
mental,  so  naively  expressing  her  natural  impulses  as 
Mrs.  Thomas,  she  had  neither  sympathy  nor  comprehen 
sion. 

130 


CHAPTER     TEN 

The  narrowness  of  which  Mr.  Herries  had  once  ac 
cused  her,  the  inherent  narrowness  of  the  feminine 
nature,  its  unswerving  devotion  to  the  traditional  dog 
mas  of  womanliness,  now  expressed  itself  in  every  line 
of  her  face  and  figure. 

"  I  don't  think  a  woman  has  any  call  to  talk  as  you 
are  doing,"  she  said  with  grave  reproof. 

Mrs.  Thomas  exhibited  the  obstinacy  of  the  meek. 
"  I'd  like  to  know  why  not  ?  "  she  cried  defiantly.  "  I'd 
like  to  know  what  right  you  got  to  judge  me,  Miss 
Benson.  You  don't  know  the  lonesomeness  of  bein*  a 
widow." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  contemplating  a 
second  marriage,  not  two  months  after  your  husband's 
death?  "  asked  Frances,  aghast. 

But  Mrs.  Thomas  had  endured  to  the  limit.  "  I  don't 
care,"  in  childish  wrath.  "  You'd  be  a  contemplatin'  a 
second,  or  a  third,  or  any  old  kind  if  you  knew  the  lone 
someness  of  bein'  a  widow.  An'  I  bet  if  you  was  to 
tell  the  truth,"  shrilly  and  amid  streaming  tears, 
"  you'd  want  somebody  to  love  you  just  the  same  as 
I  do." 

The  scarlet  crept  up  Frances's  neck ;  but  compressing 
her  lips,  she  merely  looked  icily  and  remotely  over  the 
head  of  this  possessor  of  a  "  soul  problem,"  beyond  her 
ken. 

"  Mrs.  Thomas,"  she  said  curtly,  "  your  behaviour 
and  your  sentiments  make  me  ashamed  of  my  sex." 

"  I  don't  care,"  reiterated  Mrs.  Thomas.  "  I  don't 
care.  It's  your  sex  an'  my  sex  that's  talkin'.  There  ain't 

131 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

no  woman  livin'  that  don't  want  a  man  to  love  her."  She 
put  her  head  on  the  table  and  sobbed  afresh. 

The  women  exchanged  scornful  and  shocked  glances 
over  her  head.  "  I  guess  we'd  best  leave  you  to  yourself, 
Marthy  Thomas,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  rising.  "  If  you're 
in  such  a  frame  of  mind  that  you've  got  to  sass  the  Mis- 
sioner,  you'll  be  throwin'  things  at  the  rest  of  us.  An' 
Thomas  hardly  cold  in  his  grave  yet !  My ! "  as  she 
closed  the  door  behind  the  little  party  of  visitors. 
"  Ain't  she  the  limit  ?  Lord  save  me  from  them  that 
don't  know  their  own  minds." 

"  But  she's  certain'y  in  the  devil  of  a  scrape,"  argued 
Mrs.  Nitschkan  good-naturedly.  "  Say  the  word,  girls," 
rolling  up  her  sleeves  and  feeling  tentatively  her  swell 
ing  muscles,  "  an'  I'll  go  over  to  Mount  Tabor  an'  do 
up  the  Perfessor." 

"  That  would  never  do,  Nitschkan,"  Mrs.  Evans 
hastily  replied.  "  What  we  got  to  do  is  to  work  on  this 
end  of  the  line." 

Frances,  who  had  walked  silently  down  the  little  path 
leading  to  the  paling  gate,  now  spoke.  "  I  agree  with 
Mrs.  Evans,"  she  spoke  slowly.  "  I  do  not  think  it  is 
worth  while  trying  to  do  anything  more  with  Mrs. 
Thomas.  She  is  completely  under  that  man's  influence. 
As  for  him,"  she  added  grimly,  "  a  good,  strong  man 
should  deal  with  him." 

"  That  is  so,"  responded  Mrs.  Evans  emphatically, 
"  but  I  don't  know  one  that's  got  any  call  to  mix  in, 
unless  it's  Dan  Mayhew.  He's  her  trustee,  an'  he  might 
do  something  with  her." 


CHAPTER     TEN 

"  Dan's  an  awful  sensible  man,"  said  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter  gloomily.  "  You  go  an'  tell  him  de  way  she  carry 
on,  and  he  won't  be  trustee  no  more.  Den  how  she  goin' 
to  get  along?  " 

"  Goodness  only  knows,"  answered  Mrs.  Evans  des 
perately.  "  Still,  we  can't  stop  to  think  about  that. 
What  we  got  to  do  is  to  try  as  hard  as  we  can  to  get 
her  out  of  this  muss.  Ain't  that  so,  Miss  Benson?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  Frances  in  a  depressed  tone. 

"  She  showed  me  a  letter  from  him  last  night,  women 
dear,"  chuckled  the  irrepressible  Nitschkan,  "  in  which 
he  said  that  she  wasn't  to  hesitate  no  longer,  as  the 
danger  was  at  hand,  an'  he  called  her  his  blue-eyed 
beauty.  A  big  ox  like  her  with  a  front  tooth  gone ! " 

"  My  Lord !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Evans.  "  Who'd  have  any 
patience?  Well,  girls,  I  heard  Sile  say  that  Dan  was 
workin'  on  his  prospect,  so  it's  no  use  stoppin'  at  his 
law  office.  Up  we'll  have  to  go." 

It  was  something  of  a  climb,  up  through  a  trail 
bordered  with  the  pink  and  blue  penstemon  all  abloom 
in  the  sparkling,  balsamic  June  air;  but  these  were 
hardy  mountain  women,  and  it  was  not  long  before  they 
reached  the  prospect  where  Dan  Mayhew  was  hard  at 
work  with  pick  and  shovel  in  a  hole  about  twenty  feet 
deep. 

"  Hello,  Dan,"  called  the  breezy  voice  of  Mrs.  Nitsch 
kan,  as  the  women  peered  over  the  rim  of  his  embryo 
mine. 

"  Hello,  girls,"  he  answered  heartily,  throwing  down 
his  tools  and  pushing  his  hat  further  back  on  his  head, 

133 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

the  better  to  see  his  visitors.  "  Come  to  call  on  me? 
What's  in  the  wind  now?  Want  a  divorce  apiece?  Wait 
till  I  climb  up  since  I  ain't  got  electric  elevators  running 
yet.  I  can  entertain  you  better  up  there.  What  do  you 
think  o'  them  for  samples  ?  "  He  threw  some  bits  of 
quartz  into  Mrs.  Landvetter's  lap.  "  Looks  like  '  The 
Marthy  '  was  goin'  to  have  a  f  utur',  don't  it  ?  " 

He  was  a  big  broad-shouldered  fellow,  as  he  stood 
among  his  callers,  who  sat  about  the  yawning  hole  on 
convenient  boulders.  One  of  the  strong  men  of  this  earth 
— a  fitting  type  to  stand  erect  in  the  stern  and  savage 
mountains,  and  to  wrest  from  them  the  secret  of  their 
hidden  treasures. 

"  Fine,"  said  Mrs.  Landvetter,  leisurely  examining 
the  specimens.  "  Great !  Dere's  a  streak  of  peacock." 

"  Le's  see."  Mrs.  Evans  scanned  the  bits  of  rock 
professionally.  "  Good,  Dan,  if  the  streak  don't  pinch. 
I'm  kind  o'  'f raid  you  struck  a  pocket,  though." 

"  Oh,  we  all  know  Mrs.  Evans  knows  more  about 
mining  than  Sile,"  commented  Mayhew  good-naturedly. 
"  Now  he  thinks  '  The  Marthy  '  's  goin'  to  be  a  great 
mine.  Sorry  I  have  no  seats  but  boulders  to  offer  you 
ladies.  When  '  The  Marthy  '  pans  out  you  shall  all  have 
plush  rockers." 

The  constant  iteration  of  the  name  "  Marthy " 
seemed  to  react  upon  feminine  nerves.  Mrs.  Evans,  Mrs. 
Landvetter  and  the  Missionary  glanced  uneasily  at  one 
another.  It  remained  for  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  with  her  lack 
of  nerves,  to  solve  the  problem,  for,  at  Mayhew's  words, 
she  threw  her  head  back  with  a  great  burst  of  laughter, 

134 


"Hello,  girls,"  he  amicered  heartily 


CHAPTER     TEN 

showing  every  squirrel-white  tooth  in  her  head.  "  The 
Marthy!  The  Marthy!"  she  cried.  "Why,  Dan,  it's 
the  Marthy  we've  come  to  see  you  about." 

Mayhew's  expression  changed.  "  What's  the  matter 
with  Mrs.  Thomas?"  he  asked  quickly,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  Oh,  dere  ain't  nottin'  de  matter  wid  her,  dat  is " 

said  Mrs.  Landvetter,  and  then  paused  in  embarrassed 
silence,  attempting  to  extricate  her  lace  work  from  her 
pocket. 

"  Well,  what  it  is  then  ?  "  asked  Mayhew  impatiently. 
"  You  girls  got  something  on  your  minds,  or  you 
wouldn't  be  up  here." 

"  That  is  true,  Mr.  Mayhew.  We  have  something  on 
our  minds,  and  we  thought  it  best  to  come  directly  to 
you,"  said  the  Missionary,  decisively.  "  We  are  all  very 
much  worried  about  Mrs.  Thomas." 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  anxiously.  "Is  she 
sick?  " 

"  No,  she  is  quite  well ;  but "  Miss  Benson  tried 

to  speak  kindly.  "  She  has  gotten  into  quite  a  serious 
entanglement  with  this  fortune  teller  over  in  Mount 
Tabor,  Professor  Hartshorn." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  *  serious  entangle 
ment  '  ?  "  growled  Mayhew.  "  Speak  plain,  Missioner." 

"  I  mean,"  replied  the  Missionary,  with  a  tightening 
of  the  lips  and  a  heightened  colour,  "  that  she  is  com 
pletely  under  the  influence  of  this  man,  and  that  he  is 
using  that  influence  to  extort  money  from  her.  She 
has  promised  to  give  him,  day  after  to-morrow,  all  that 

135 


remains  of  the  two  thousand  dollars  her  husband  left 
her." 

Mayhew's  eyes  glared  from  under  his  brows,  but  he 
looked  from  one  woman  to  another  in  a  dazed  fashion. 

"It's  straight,  Dan,"  corroborated  Mrs.  Evans. 
"  He's  just  hypnotised  her,  an*  now  she's  in  this 
box." 

"  Well,  why  wasn't  I  told  before  ?  "  asked  Mayhew. 
"  What  did  you  let  her  get  into  it  for?  How  did  she 
ever  meet  him  ?  " 

"  She  went  to  get  her  fortune  told,"  began  Mrs. 
Evans. 

"  She's  so  lonesome,  bein'  a  widow,  an5  she  wanted 
somebody  to  love  her,"  mimicked  Mrs.  Nitschkan  in 
a  small  voice,  imitating  closely  Mrs.  Thomas'  lisp  and 
coy  manner. 

The  three  mountain  women  rocked  back  and  forth 
on  their  boulders  with  bursts  of  laughter. 

"  Aw,  for  the  Lord's  sake ! "  exclaimed  Mayhew  dis 
gustedly.  "  I  wisht  women  had  some  sense.  Missioner, 
can  you  tell  me  what  this  is  all  about  ?  " 

"  It's  just  as  these  ladies  say,"  remarked  Frances 
coldly.  She  had  small  sympathy  for  the  culprit  and 
was  actuated  in  her  present  course  solely  by  a  sense  of 
duty.  "  Mrs.  Thomas  explained  to  us  that  she  was 
lonesome  after  her  husband's  death,  and  with  a  desire 
for  excitement  went  to  see  this  Professor  Hartshorn. 
He  at  once  made  love  to  her,  and  now  informs  her  that 
he  sees  in  his  crystals,  and  his  stars,  and  cards,  some 
terrible  calamity  impending  unless  she  gives  him  her 

130 


CHAPTER     TEN 

money.  He  has  so  succeeded  in  frightening  her  that  I 
do  not  think  she  will  dare  to  refuse  his  demand." 

"  He'll  get  his  head  broke  before  night,"  threat 
ened  Mayhew.  "  My  Lord ! "  mopping  his  brow  with  a 
blue  and  white  cotton  handkerchief  and  looking  des 
perately  at  the  row  of  women  before  him.  "  What  was 
you  women  a-thinkin'  of,  sittin'  around  doin'  nothin' 
and  lettin'  her  get  into  such  a  scrape?  " 

"  My  patience ! "  cried  Mrs.  Evans,  while  her  sisters 
gasped  and  gazed  at  one  another.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  drew  up  her  tiny  figure  to  the  fullest.  "  You 
must  think  we  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do,  Dan  Mayhew, 
but  look  after  that  overgrown  baby.  Maybe  you  think 
we  ain't  got  husbands  and  childern  an'  houses  to  mind. 
Oh,  yes ;  we  ought  to  let  them  go  to  look  after  Marthy 
Thomas,  that  ain't  got  sense  enough  to  tend  to  her 
own  business." 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  said  Mayhew,  surveying  her  an 
grily  and  speaking  with  icy  sarcasm.  "  Well,  I  guess 
there's  a  good  many  men  in  the  camp,  includin'  poor 
Sile  Evans,  that  wishes  there  was  more  like  her.  You 
all  think  you're  too  smart  to  mind  your  own  business 
and  got  to  stick  your  fingers  in  everybody  else's  pie.  I 
guess  if  the  truth  was  known  you  drove  her  to  this.  It 
speaks  a  lot  for  her  friends,  don't  it,  that  she  got  so 
lonesome  that  she  had  to  run  to  some  fakir  for  con 
solation  ?  " 

"  Vy  vasn't  you  around  to  do  some  of  the  consolin', 
Dan?"  asked  Mrs.  Landvetter  hardily. 

"  She  was  wantin'  to  be  loved,"  roared  Mrs.  Nitsch- 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

kan.  A  suppressed  giggle  ran  through  the  feminine 
part  of  the  group  with  the  exception  of  the  Missionary. 

"  Well,  it's  a  pity  some  of  the  rest  of  you  didn't," 
he  exclaimed  doggedly.  "  Oh,  you're  Miss  Know-it-alls. 
If  she'd  'a*  been  treated  right  by  you  women,"  he  con 
tinued  accusingly,  "  she  wouldn't  'a*  gone  traipsin* 
around  to  fakirs.  You  didn't  show  her  no  human  sym 
pathy.  You're  a  cold-blooded  lot.  Oh,  I  know  the  whole 
of  you,  'ceptin'  Missioner.  I  could  read  your  pedigrees 
from  the  beginning.  It  couldn't  be  expected  that  you'd 
understand  her.  She  ain't  made  of  the  same  kind  of 
clay  that  you  are.  She's  trustin',  that's  what  she  is, 
trustin'  and  confidin';  but  what's  the  use  of  trustin5  in 
flint  an'  confidin'  in  ice?  " 

"My  Gawd,  Dan  May  hew!  Air  you  a-jumpin'  on  us 
'cause  Marthy  Thomas  is  a  d.  f .  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Evans 
shrilly. 

He  wheeled  on  her  savagely.  "  You  ought  to  be 
scrunched  'twixt  a  man's  thumb  an'  finger  like  you  was 
a  flea,  which  you  are,"  contemptuously.  "  I've  asked 
you  and  you  ain't  give  me  any  good  answer — what  did 
you  ever  let  her  get  in  such  a  muss  for?  Oh,  yes," 
interrupting  the  clamour  of  voices;  "you  could  'a' 
helped  if  you'd  wanted  to.  I  know  how  much  she  thinks 
of  all  of  you;  but  you  couldn't  lift  a  finger  to  help 
her,  could  you?  That  would  be  puttin'  yourselves  out 
some,  wouldn't  it?  You  couldn't  do  nothing  but  sit 
around  and  knock  her  behind  her  back." 

"  You  are  not  just  to  us,  Mr.  Mayhew."  Frances 
attempted  to  speak  with  dignity,  but  her  lip  trembled. 

138 


CHAPTER     TEN 

He  made  a  scornful  gesture,  as  if  renouncing  them 
all;  but  it  was  plain  from  his  absorbed  gaze  bent  on 
the  ground,  his  knotted  brow,  that  he  was  oblivious  to 
their  presence. 

Mrs.  Evans  fidgetted  uneasily.  "  Dan,"  she  said  at 
last,  "  get  over  your  mad  and  tell  us  what  had  best  be 
done." 

"  I  know  what  I'm  a-going  to  do,"  he  cried,  with 
resolution,  picking  up  his  hat  and  coat  from  the 
ground.  "  I'm  goin'  to  Mount  Tabor  to  drive  that 
skunk  out  of  the  mountains.  Then  I'm  a-comin5  back 
and  ask  the  best,  the  most  trustin'  and  confidin'  woman 
in  the  world  to  marry  me.  Good-morning,  ladies."  He 
walked  lightly  and  rapidly  down  the  trail  before  them. 

The  faces  of  the  women  left  behind  him  were  pale 
and  stunned. 

With  a  quick  gesture  of  self-reproach  the  Mission 
ary  laid  one  hand  against  her  cheek,  as  with  the  strange, 
sad  eyes  of  the  mystic  she  gazed  above  the  swaying 
pine  tops  into  the  depths  of  the  blue,  blue  sky. 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  met  it  right.  This  was  Mrs.  Thomas's 
soul  problem,  and  I  didn't  help  her  solve  it.  I  just  got 
mad  and  quit." 

"  Such  is  life,"  murmured  Mrs.  Landvetter,  with 
some  vague  attempt  at  consolation.  "  You  can't  neffer 
tell." 

"  Take  it  back,  Landvetter,"  returned  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan  practically,  brushing  a  bit  of  adhering  clay  from 
her  short  skirt.  "  Take  it  back.  Life  ain't  nothin*  so 
cantankerous.  You  mean,  '  such  is  men.' ' 

139 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

I*  RANGES  sat  in  her  cabin  door  that  evening.  The 
air  was  unusually  mild  and  the  moonlight  lay  on  the 
hills ;  beyond  great  wastes  of  shadow  the  peaks  shone 
with  a  white  unearthly  glory.  The  spring,  the  delicate, 
evanescent  spring  of  the  mountains,  had  vanished,  and 
Frances,  whose  imagination  had  been  quickened  by  liv 
ing  in  the  vast  solitudes,  had  pictured  an  airy  maiden 
who  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  shining  summits  and 
then  sped  downward,  flowers  springing  where  her  light 
feet  brushed  the  hillsides,  down,  down  to  the  valleys  of 
mist. 

It  was  summer  now,  the  summer  of  golden  days  of 
an  ineffable  freshness,  of  long  clear  evenings,  when 
the  primroses  opened  their  white-petalled  cups  and  filled 
the  air  with  their  enchanting  and  exotic  fragrance ;  but 
even  the  healing  balm  of  the  earth's  beauty  could  not 
restore  the  Missionary's  soul.  Since  morning  she  had 
sat  in  that  abasement  of  spirit,  that  profound  depres 
sion  she  always  experienced  when  she  had,  as  she 
phrased  it,  "  denied  her  Lord  "  and  "  failed  to  live  up 
to  the  light." 

"  Heve  I  sat  dreaming  of  the  universal  love,"  she 
reproached  herself  in  bitter  scorn,  "  and  when  I  was 
called  on  to  prove  it  to  Mrs.  Thomas,  I  had  nothing  to 
give  her,  because  I  dared  to  judge.  he,r  and  her  way  of 

140 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

loving.  It  makes  me  sick,  it  makes  me  sick !  Oh,"  with 
a  wave  of  impatient  anguish,  "  do  I  always  have  to 
judge  and  manage?  Won't  I  ever  reach  the  'neither 
do  I  condemn  thee '  ?  "  Her  tightly  clasped  hands, 
which  she  had  raised  to  her  heart  with  an  habitual 
gesture,  fell  limply  in  her  lap,  and  her  head  sank.  She 
felt  sore  and  spent,  as  if  she  had  essayed  to  climb  a  high 
mountain  and  had  slipped  and  fallen,  bruised  upon  the 
rocks. 

There  she  sat,  until,  hearing  footsteps  upon  the  little 
bridge,  she  lifted  her  head  to  see  the  tall  figure  of 
Garvin  advancing  through  the  moonlight.  He  came 
slowly,  with  down-bent  head  and,  it  seemed  to  Frances, 
with  dragging  steps,  as  if  he  lifted  his  feet  with  an 
effort. 

"  Don't  get  up,  Miss  Benson,"  he  said,  as  she  arose 
and  stood  in  the  doorway.  "  Don't  get  up;  I'll  just  sit 
down  on  the  step  here,  if  you  will  let  me.  Please  don't 
bother  about  a  chair.  I'd  rather  sit  down  here,"  suit 
ing  the  action  to  the  words.  He  rested  his  bare  head 
against  the  lintel  of  the  door,  and  she  fancied  she  heard 
him  sigh.  Some  instinct  bade  her  hold  her  peace,  and 
for  a  time  they  sat  in  silence;  then  he  drew  one  hand 
across  his  brow. 

"  Miss  Benson,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  don't  know  how 
I  can  ever  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  Lutie.  You 
must  never  think  that  I  underrate  it.  I  know  how  busy 
your  life  is,  and  I  know  how  many  demands  you  have 
on  your  time  and  patience ;  and  when  I  consider  this,  and 
think  of  all  the  hours  you  manage  to  give  to  Lutie,  and 

141 


that  you  have  been  not  only  friend  and  companion, 
but  nurse  as  well,  why — I  haven't  words  to  thank 
you." 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  thank  me,"  she  replied.  "  It 
has  made  me  happy  to  do  what  little  I  can  for  her. 
Lutie  is  very  lovable,  Mr.  Garvin." 

"  Yes,  poor  little  thing ! "  he  sighed.  "  But,  Miss 
Benson,  because  you  have  already  done  so  much,  I 
have  hated  to  come  to  you  in  this  new  perplexity,  and 
yet  " — sighing  again — "  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  no 
where  else  to  turn.  You  see,  the  doctors  all  agree  that 
she  has  only  a  little  while  to  live.  Well,  if  they  are 
right,  and  these  are  really  her  last  days,  why,  I  want 
them  happy.  If  her  fancy  turns  to  jewels  and  clothes 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  by  God,  she  shall  have  them ! " 
He  brought  his  big  brown  hand  with  the  long  lean 
fingers  down  on  his  knee.  "  I  want  her  last  days  happy 
at  any  cost.  Ethel  means  well,  and  she's  been  a  good 
friend  to  Lutie;  but  she's  crazy  about  religion,  and 
she's  got  some  kind  of  a  fixed  idea  that  she's  got  to 
save  Lutie's  soul  at  any  cost.  I  don't  see " — with  a 
short  vexed  laugh — "  why  she  don't  get  enough  excite 
ment  out  of  beating  her  tambourine  and  singing  and 
praying  in  the  streets  without  tormenting  my  poor 
girl. 

"  Every  time  Ethel  talks  to  her  about  religion  it 
brings  on  a  nervous  attack.  Fortunately,  she's  taken 
rather  a  fancy  to  the  lunger  preacher — what's  his 
name?  Carrothers — and  he  hasn't  bothered  her  much 
about  her  soul;  he  knows  better,  I  guess.  But  then  it's 

142 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

anything  that's  new  with  her  now.  She's  so  tired — the 
restlessness  of  disease,  you  know."  He  brooded  mood 
ily.  "  You  will  help  me,  won't  you,  Missioner  ?  "  fall 
ing  for  the  first  time  into  the  familiar  village  term. 
"  You  are  all  I  have  to  depend  on.  The  new  difficulty 
I  spoke  of?  Oh! — it  is  this.  The  doctors  insist  that 
she  must  have  nurses  to  care  for  her,  and,  indeed,  she 
is  so  ill  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary ;  and  yet  I  can 
do  nothing  with  her,  she  rebels  so  at  the  thought.  It 
makes  her  feel  that  she  is  really  ill,  you  see.  Now,  if 
you  could  help  me  persuade  her  it  is  necessary  ?  I  can't 
be  with  her  all  of  the  time.  You  see,  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  business  which  must  have  more  or  less 
attention,  and  then  " — with  a  faint  smile — "  I've  got 
to  sleep  a  little." 

Frances  looked  at  him.  This  man,  worn  with  vigils 
and  spent  with  the  endeavour  to  soothe  the  last  days  of 
a  poor  wreck  of  a  woman,  was  that  same  Garvin  of 
whom  Ethel  and  Herries  had  spoken  as  the  willing 
companion,  the  complaisant  prey,  of  light  women.  It 
was  an  incredible,  a  horrible  thought,  and  she  put  it 
from  her. 

"  I  will  do  everything  that  I  can,  believe  that,"  she 
answered  earnestly. 

"  Thank  you.  I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  said  simply. 

True  to  her  word,  she  did  try,  the  next  morning,  and 
succeeded  so  well  that  without  undue  excitement  Lutie 
was  not  only  persuaded  to  permit  the  presence  of 
nurses,  but  even  looked  forward  to  their  arrival  as  a 
new  interest. 

143 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

After  having  accomplished  her  mission,  Frances  re 
turned  through  the  village  and  stopped  at  two  or  three 
houses.  Everywhere  she  heard  discussed  the  one  topic 
on  which  Zenith  was,  for  the  moment,  concentrating  its 
interest:  Myrtle  Swanstrom's  mischievous  skirmishes 
with  the  invincible  Mrs.  Evans,  the  match  game  which 
was  being  played  between  them  with  the  hazard  at 
stake — the  lunger  preacher. 

All  Zenith  agreed  that  the  game,  as  it  stood,  had 
been  played  by  experts,  and  in  a  masterly  manner,  and 
that  it  was  a  contest  well  worth  putting  one's  money 
on. 

To  show  a  few  of  the  moves — Mrs.  Evans  it  was  who 
kindly  offered  to  assist  the  preacher  in  planning  the 
arrangement  of  his  cabin,  and,  as  they  sat  about  the 
kitchen  table  in  the  evening  studying  his  drawings, 
would  appeal  to  the  shy  and  silent  Susie  for  advice: 
"  Mr.  Carrothers,"  explanatorily,  "  she's  such  a  house 
keeper  as  never  was.  When  the  cabin's  finished,  we'll 
come  over,  and  Susie  shall  get  up  one  of  her  suppers 
for  you.  My  Lord!  They're  simply  great!  Susie,  lift 
the  coffee  off  the  stove  and  hand  down  Preacher  a  piece 
of  pie." 

But  it  was  Myrtle  who  would  inadvertently  and  inno 
cently  meet  him  as  he  came  whistling  down  the  hill  at 
sunset.  Myrtle,  who  would  at  first  refuse  to  turn  back, 
protesting  that  she  had  "  an  errand  further  along,"  and 
would  then  be  reluctantly  persuaded  to  postpone  the 
errand  and  go  for  a  stroll. 

And  if  Carrothers  was  frequently  invited  to  supper 
144 


It  was  Myrtle  who  would  innocently  meet  him 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

at  the  homes  of  those  Myrtle  called  "  the  Evans  click," 
with  Susie  invariably  and  ostentatiously  seated  beside 
him,  a  proceeding  which  caused  the  retiring  girl  a  more 
obvious  embarrassment  on  each  occasion — why,  the 
preacher,  on  the  other  hand,  was  more  and  more  fre 
quently  to  be  seen  sitting  on  the  step  of  the  Swanstrom 
cabin  through  the  summer  evenings ;  and  Frank  Mc- 
Guire's  frown  daily  grew  deeper,  his  expression  more 
sullen. 

"  I  do'  know,  Mis'  Evans,"  remarked  Mrs.  Thomas 
frankly  at  the  Wednesday  afternoon  meeting  of  the 
Ladies'  Aid  Society;  "I  do'  know  if  you're  just  on 
the  right  tack.  'Course,"  sighing  deeply,  "  we  got  to 
recognise  that  bacon  an'  greens  is  more  to  a  brute  of 
a  man  than  the  gentle  influence  of  woman ;  but  you 
got  to  remember  that  he's  young  and  ain't  made  such 
a  god  of  vittles  as  they  do  when  they're  older.  Now, 
Susie  is  always  showed  off  to  him  bakin',  or  sewin',  or 
scrubbin,'  while  Myrtle  comes  saunterin'  along  his  path 
in  a  white  dress,  the  sun  shinin'  on  her  yellow  hair  an' 
a  sprinklin'  of  musk  on  her  handkercher'.  If  you  no 
tice,  for  the  last  three  Sundays,  he's  been  rantin' 
about  the  lilies  of  the  field.  Always  watch  the 
straws,  I  says,  an'  then  bimeby  you'll  get  to  know 
somethin'." 

"  Myrtle  had  ought  to  be  remonstrated  with,"  said 
Mrs.  Evans  decisively,  "  an'  I  think  Missioner  here  is 
the  one  to  do  it." 

"Do  you?  Well,  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I  do," 
replied  Frances.  Nevertheless,  she  pondered  consider- 

145 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

ably  if  a  word  in  season  were  not  her  duty  and  also 
as  to  the  best  methods  of  approaching  Myrtle. 

Opportunity,  however,  arranged  the  matter  without 
her  lifting  a  finger ;  for  one  afternoon,  a  few  days 
later,  as  she  sat  sewing  by  her  cabin  door,  occasion 
ally  lifting  her  eyes  to  watch  the  magpies  flutter  their 
black  and  white  wings  through  the  pines,  or  the  chip 
munks  whisk  silently  up  to  snatch  a  bit  of  food  from 
the  pan  that  she  always  placed  for  them,  Myrtle  came 
panting  up  the  trail,  her  pink  face  glowing  in  the 
depths  of  her  pinker  sunbonnet. 

"  Howdy,  Missioner,"  she  called  blithely.  "  I  ain't 
seen  you  for  a  long  time." 

"  No,  indeed,  and  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  re 
turned  Frances,  reflecting  that  this  might  be  a  good 
chance  to  speak  that  word  in  season  which  was  weigh 
ing  upon  her  mind. 

"  You  see,"  said  Myrtle  explanatorily,  "  we  got  com 
pany.  Aunt  Ella  and  Uncle  Hiram  from  the  East. 
Company's  lots  of  trouble,  Missioner.  'Fore  they  come, 
it  was  gettin'  the  house  all  cleaned,  an'  tidies  an' 
throws  an*  pincushion  covers  done  up;  an'  between 
times  workin'  on  Paw  to  let  Maw  cut  his  hair,  an'  mak- 
in'  him  promise  to  wear  a  collar  while  they're  here. 

"  Uncle  Hiram,  he's  well  off,  an'  Aunt  Ella,  she 
always  was  that  airy  an'  set  up,  Maw  says.  So  Maw 
can't  bear  for  her  to  think  that  because  we  live  up  here 
in  the  mountains,  we  don't  know  what's  what,  an'  don't 
have  things  right.  Yes,  company's  lots  of  trouble." 

For  a  moment  Myrtle's  gaze  sought  the  sun-washed 
146 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

valley,  and  then  her  voice  was  lifted  again,  anxiously 
and  withal  hesitatingly. 

"  Say,  Miss  Benson,  the  worst  is  about  Frank  Mc- 
Guire.  You  see,"  pleating  the  ruffle  on  her  apron,  a 
flush  rising  on  her  soft  cheek,  "  Frank  an'  me  was 
goin'  to  be  married  this  summer,  an'  Paw  was  tickled 
to  death,  an'  then  Maw,  she  put  her  foot  down  be 
cause  she  wanted  to  show  off  to  Aunt  Ella  and  act  like 
I  could  get  Preacher.  An'  to  please  her,  I  told  Frank 
I  wanted  to  put  off  the  wedding  till  fall.  Well,  he 
wouldn't  believe  it  was  just  on  account  of  Maw's  pride 
before  Aunt  Ella.  He  suspicioned  all  the  time  that  I 
was  going  to  throw  him  over  for  the  preacher,  an'  he 
took  on  something  awful;  and  now,"  two  large  tears 
rolling  down  her  cheeks,  "  we  ain't  hardly  on  speakin' 
terms,  an'  he  says  he  won't  be  played  with  no  longer, 
an*  that  I've  got  to  tell  folks  at  the  raspberry  social 
they're  goin'  to  have  before  long  that  we're  goin'  to  be 
married  or  he'll  track  out  over  the  range  and  never 
come  back." 

"  But,  Myrtle,"  said  Frances  gently,  "  why  wait 
until  then?  Why  not  decide  now?  " 

"  No,"  her  blue  eyes  flashing  through  the  drops 
which  still  clung  to  her  lashes,  "  Frank's  got  to  'polo- 
gise  first  for  the  way  he  spoke.  I  ain't  forgot  some  of 
the  things  he  said ;  callin'  me  '  heartless  flirt.'  Well,  I've 
showed  him  what  flirtin'  is." 

"  Ah,  Myrtle,"  remonstrated  Frances,  "  wouldn't  it 
make  you  happier  to  forgive  him?  It  is  easy  to  forgive 
those  we  love." 

147 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

"No,  it  ain't,"  said  Myrtle  sharply.  "They're  the 
ones  it's  the  hardest  to  forgive."  She  shut  her  lips  with 
a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Say,  Missioner,"  after  an  interval  of  silence  and  in 
a  burst  of  what  Frances  regarded  as  reprehensible 
levity,  "  Preacher's  awful  nice,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  pleasant,"  was  the  cold  response. 

"  Frank's  terrible  jealous  of  him."  Myrtle  made  the 
statement  with  undisguised  pride. 

The  Missionary  was  genuinely  shocked.  "  Myrtle ! 
How  can  you  accept  Mr.  Carrothers's  attentions  if  you 
really  care  for  Frank?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Myrtle  .  indifferently. 
"  Seems  like  there's  a-plenty  reasons  for  my  carrying 
on  with  him — to  please  Maw,  an'  spite  Mis'  Evans  an' 
her  click,  an'  help  out  Susie  Hazen.  Don't  you  tell  none 
of  'em,  Miss  Benson,  but  Susie's  that  mortified  that  she 
don't  know  what  to  do;  an'  she  don't  dare  to  speak 
up,  'cause  Mis'  Evans  is  that  set.  You  know  her.  Why, 
all  these  tea-parties  they're  havin',  an'  settin'  Susie 
beside  Preacher,  makes  her  so  pizen  shamed  she  don't 
know  what  to  do.  Susie's  fellow  is  Tom  Eagen,  over  to 
Black  Snake,  an'  she's  goin'  to  marry  him  in  Septem 
ber;  but  she  don't  want  Mis'  Evans  to  know  it,  'cause 
she'd  stick  her  foot  in  it,  sure.  That  click  just  think 
they  can  boss  everything  here  in  Zenith,  but  I'm 
a-goin'  to  show  them  that  they  can't  boss  me." 

"  But,  Myrtle,  is  it  worthy  of  you  to  encourage  Mr. 
Carrothers  and  torment  poor  Frank  just  to  spite  some 
one?" 

148 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

"  Oh,  it  don't  hurt  the  boys,  really  it  don't,"  as 
serted  Myrtle,  anxious  to  retain  the  Missionary's  good 
opinion.  "  Preacher,  he  don't  care  a  snap  about  me. 
He's  got  the  picture  of  a  girl  from  Illinois  in  his 
watch  an'  he  just  wants  to  talk  about  her  an'  take  on 
about  how  lonely  he  is ;  and  as  for  Frank,  it  won't  hurt 
him  none.  Why,  Missioner,  some  of  the  boys  have  told 
me  they'd  drown  themselves  in  the  creek,  or  jump  over 
the  Pass,  or  go  up  above  timber  line  and  live  like 
recluses ;  but  they  never  did,  not  one  of  'em.  And  you 
just  see,"  rising  to  go  home,  "if  I  don't  teach  Frank 
McGuire  what  flirting  is." 

Frances  looked  anxiously  after  the  girl  as  she  started 
down  the  hill,  then  she  ran  down  the  road  after  the 
younger  woman.  "  Myrtle,"  she  said  in  a  voice  which 
trembled,  "  don't  try  to  get  even  with  Frank ;  remem 
ber  his  provocation.  Sometimes  whims  like  this  spoil  a 
woman's  whole  life.  Make  it  up,  Myrtle." 

Myrtle  put  her  hands  affectionately  on  the  Mission 
ary's  shoulders  and  laughed.  "  I'll  teach  him,"  she  said 
emphatically.  "  Don't  you  worry  none,  Missioner ;  I 
got  to  teach  him." 

Frances  turned  away  discouraged,  and  with  a  sigh 
retraced  her  steps. 

That  evening,  while  yet  the  daylight  lingered,  she 
was  hastily  summoned  to  Lutie's  bedside.  After  she  had 
entered  the  house  she  passed  quickly  to  the  red  boudoir ; 
there  she  was  arrested  by  the  sight  of  the  crouching 
figure  of  Ethel,  who  sat  with  her  head  bent  upon  the 

149 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

table,  her  slight  form  shaken  by  suppressed  but  hyster 
ical  sobs,  while  Carrothers  stood  beside  her,  his  lips 
compressed,  his  face  pale,  and  fright,  it  struck  Frances, 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Missioner,"  gasped  Ethel  at  the  sight  of  her. 
"  Oh,  Missioner,  it's  the  awfullest  thing  that  ever  hap 
pened.  We've  been  drove  out  again,  an'  she's  dyin' — 
she's  dyin'  in  her  sins."  She  dropped  on  her  knees,  her 
hands  clutching  the  folds  of  Frances's  skirt.  She  swayed 
back  and  forth,  her  face  was  distorted  with  weeping, 
and  her  fair  hair  falling  wildly  about  it.  "  Missioner, 
it's  up  to  you.  It's  up  to  you.  We  can't  do  nothing 
more.  Walt's  drove  us  out ;  but  it's  up  to  you  to  save 
her." 

Frances  drew  her  hand  heavily  across  her  eyes.  She 
had  known  days  of  perplexity  and  nights  of  prayer  on 
this  subject,  and  Ethel's  appeal  was  like  a  blow  struck 
on  quivering  nerves.  She  drew  one  deep  involuntary 
sigh,  and  looked  above  Ethel's  head,  beyond  Carroth 
ers  to  the  scarlet,  smiling,  unctuous  cardinals,  the  pink 
and  blue  maidens  dancing  on  the  startlingly  green 
sward,  upon  the  walls. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Ethel  again  broke 
into  hysterical,  incoherent  appeals,  which  died  into  sob 
bing  silence  as  Garvin  appeared  at  the  door. 

His  face  was  dead  white,  a  dark,  toneless  pallor; 
there  were  new  and  deeper  lines  about  his  eyes,  and 
his  mouth,  as  he  glanced  quickly  at  Ethel  and  Car 
rothers,  became  set  in  a  grim  expression  of  satiric 
scorn. 

150 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

"  Lutie  is  waiting  for  you,  Miss  Benson."  And 
Frances,  stooping  a  moment  to  smooth  back  Ethel's 
hair  and  gently  unclasping  her  hands,  turned  to  him 
with  a  sense  of  relief.  Here,  at  last,  was  strength  and 
self-control. 

Lutie  lay  propped  high  upon  her  pillows.  Her  eyes 
were  wide  and  wild,  her  face  terror-stricken.  Her  gaze 
held  Frances  like  the  clutch  of  a  drowning  man;  but 
she  did  not  speak  until  the  Missionary  bent  above  her 
and  took  both  the  weak,  fluttering  hands  in  hers. 

"  Ethel  says  I'm  a-going  to  die,  Missioner,"  she 
muttered  in  her  hoarse,  almost  inaudible  voice,  "  and  I 
got  to  know  something,  I  got  to  know  the  truth.  Walt 
here,  he  says  anything  to  please  me.  He'd  lie  his  head 
off  for  me ;  wouldn't  you,  Walt  ?  "  There  was  a  touch 
of  the  old,  pathetic  pride  she  took  in  any  evidences  of 
his  affection  for  her.  "  But  you  " — it  was  as  if  the 
words  were  expelled  from  her  by  the  force  of  a  passion 
which  overrode  the  difficulties  of  speech — "  you  wouldn't 
lie  to  save  my  soul  from  hell;  would  you,  Mis 
sioner?  " 

A  weight  as  of  thousands  of  tons  fell  upon  Frances's 
heart.  She  looked  across  the  bed  at  Garvin.  He  was 
gazing  at  her  with  such  profound  intensity,  such  con 
centrated  appeal,  that  she  caught  his  prayer  as  readily 
as  if  it  had  been  expressed  in  words.  It  was :  "  Promise 
anything,  anything  that  will  spare  this  tortured  child. 
Soothe  her.  Give  her  peace.  In  human  pity,  let  your 
beliefs  and  standards  go.  These  are  her  last  conscious 
moments."  But  there  was  no  acquiescence,  no  promise 

151 


in  the  Missionary's  eyes ;  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  suppressed  a  groan. 

And  Frances  suddenly  felt  an  overwhelming  pity  for 
him ;  her  strength,  moral  and  physical,  lapsed  in  a  mo 
ment  to  weakness ;  she  longed  to  assure  him  again  of 
her  co-operation  and  sympathy.  His  unspoken  appeal 
stirred  the  depths  of  her  nature;  but  the  dying  girl 
upon  the  bed  was  asking  a  greater  thing  than  he.  She 
was  asking  with  all  her  seeking  soul  for  the  one  thing 
that  love  would  deny  her,  and  her  appeal  struck  deeper 
than  his. 

All  the  finer  forces,  the  trained  spiritual  forces  of 
Frances's  nature  rose  to  a  decision.  Lutie  had  asked  for 
the  truth,  as  Frances  knew  it;  by  her  soul's  light,  the 
dying  girl  should  have  it;  and  having  thus  determined, 
she  felt  her  weakness  disappear  and  strength  flow  to  her 
from  infinite  sources. 

"  You  wouldn't  lie  to  save  my  soul  f  r "  the  hoarse 

plea  failed. 

"  I  wouldn't  lie  to  save  your  soul  from  hell,"  came 
the  steady  answer. 

Garvin's  head  dropped  on  his  hands. 

"  Ethel  and  Preacher  say  I'm  a-going  to  die.  Am 
I?" 

And  Frances,  hesitating  a  moment,  answered  accord 
ing  to  her  lights,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  dying  woman's. 

"  I  don't  know,  Lutie.  Only  God  knows." 

"  And  they  say  that  to  save  my  soul  I  got  to  repent. 
I  got  to  give  up  Walt  an'  never  see  him  again  in  another 
world,  'cause  I  been  living  with  him  in  sin.  Is  that  true? 

152 


CHAPTER     ELEVEN 

And  if  I  don't  repent  livin'  with  him  and  being  happy, 
I'm  a-goin'  to  hell — maybe  to-night.  Is  it  true?  Is  it 
true?  For  I  can't  repent;  I  can't.  I'm  glad."  Through 
the  tortured  anguish  of  her  voice  there  sang  a  note  of 
triumph. 

As  she  listened,  Frances  felt  herself  as  one  alone  on 
a  midnight  sea,  moonless,  starless ;  the  waters  rose 
blacker  and  higher,  the  great  waves  threatening  to  en 
gulf  her.  The  truth,  that  rock  on  which  she  must  plant 
her  feet — where  was  it?  Did  it  lie  in  the  dogmas  and 
doctrines  she  had  unquestioningly  accepted,  the  moral 
and  religious  axioms  which  she  had  taken  without 
thought  or  reflection  to  be  the  eternal  verities  ?  She  had 
condemned  Mrs.  Thomas  from  the  narrowness  of  her 
standards ;  was  this  new  distrust  of  those  standards  a 
mere  reaction  from  a  too  rigid  but  nevertheless  correct 
ideal,  and  therefore  a  subtle  form  of  temptation? 

Lutie  had  asked  for  the  truth  and  she  had  promised 
to  give  it.  Oh,  God!  What  was  the  truth?  There  was 
nowhere  to  turn,  no  one  to  turn  to.  The  answer  must 
come  from  herself,  from  her  own  deep,  eternal  convic 
tions,  from  the  depths  of  her  soul.  She  looked  down 
ward  at  the  girl  on  the  bed,  the  butterfly,  the  glory 
of  her  iridescent  wings  shrivelled  by  burning  suns  and 
torn  by  beating  rains,  and  there  welled  up  from  the 
depths  of  her  soul  a  great  wave  of  love,  which  rolled 
out  over  the  black  waters  of  her  doubt  and  stilled  their 
clamour. 

"  The  truth,  Missioner,  the  truth !  Am  I  goin'  to 
hell — maybe  to-night  ?  " 

153 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

"  No."  Frances's  form  seemed  to  dilate,  her  voice 
rang  like  a  trumpet.  "  That's  a  lie.  A  cruel,  hard, 
wicked  lie.  You're  going  to  have  your  chance,  Lutie. 
Something  you've  never  had  before."  She  dropped  on 
her  knees  and  pressed  the  frail  hands  in  hers.  "  Be  glad, 
Lutie.  It's  all  love  and  beauty;  there's  nothing  else." 

For  a  moment  the  girl  gazed  at  her  fearfully,  not 
daring  to  believe,  and  then  she  reflected  the  white 
transfiguration  of  the  Missionary's  face,  the  mystic 
rapture  of  her  eyes.  A  change  so  swift  as  to  seem  a 
miracle  passed  over  her  face,  the  lines  faded,  the  fur 
rows  of  her  brow  were  smoothed  out  as  if  by  the  touch 
of  a  healing  hand;  on  her  lips  was  a  smile  like  a 
child's. 

She  turned  to  Garvin  and  was  about  to  speak,  when 
she  paused  and  listened.  Frances  and  Garvin,  surprised, 
listened,  too;  but  there  was  no  sound  save  the  sigh 
of  the  perpetual  wind  about  the  house. 

"  Don't  you  hear  it,  Walt — the  whistle  of  that  train 
— the  train  you  took  me  away  on — straight  into  heaven 
— straight — into " 

Her  voice  failed;  but  in  her  dimming  eyes  lingered 
the  ecstatic  vision ;  on  her  lips  was  the  dreaming  child's 
smile.  And  in  the  first  sweep  of  that  strange  and  sol 
emn  wind  which  blows  before  the  dawn,  the  veering, 
faint  flame  of  Garvin's  light-o'-love  was  snuffed  out. 


154 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

IJESET  by  an  intense  physical  and  mental  weariness, 
the  week  which  followed  Lutie's  death  remained  in 
Frances's  memory  as  a  season  of  gloom  and  confusion, 
punctuated  by  the  comments  of  Mrs.  Nitschkan  and 
her  circle,  the  sobs  of  Ethel  and  the  platitudes  of 
Carrothers,  to  whom  Garvin  had  made  public  amends 
for  past  affronts  by  asking  him  to  conduct  the  funeral 
services. 

But  far  more  than  Ethel's  tears  or  Mrs.  Thomas's 
sighs  did  Carrothers's  consolatory  offices,  confined  to 
remarks  of  a  tritely  comforting  nature,  wear  upon 
Frances's  spirit;  and  yet,  had  she  but  known  it,  the 
"  lunger  preacher  "  showed  her  a  real,  if  unconscious, 
mercy  by  reserving  his  most  stirring  commonplaces  for 
the  burst  of  oratory  which  he  felt  fitly  signalised  so 
ornate  and  flower-decked  an  occasion  as  Lutie's  funeral. 

As  he  announced  at  the  close  of  an  hour's  shrill  and 
stumbling  address,  his  few  words  were  invested  with 
a  double  significance,  and  served,  not  only  to  pay  trib 
ute  to  the  dead,  but  were  also  a  valedictory  to  his 
profession. 

His  voice  shook  plaintively  and  tears  filled  his  eyes 
as  he  attributed  this  act  of  renunciation  to  his  failing 
health,  which  required  an  outdoor  occupation  for  its 
restoration.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  he  was  wholly  de- 

155 


THE      NEW     MISSIONER 

serving  of  the  sympathy  he  thus  exacted,  for  as  a  shep 
herd  of  souls  he  had  ever  found  the  pasturage  offered 
him  poor  and  scant;  and  the  carpentering  trade,  to 
which  he  now  eagerly  turned,  satisfied  all  the  yearnings 
of  his  soul  and  gave  play  to  the  real  skill  of  his 
hands. 

To  the  censorious,  it  may  have  appeared  that  Car- 
rothers  dwelt  more  upon  his  transit  from  one  activity 
to  another  than  upon  Lutie's  passing  from  life  to 
death;  but  Zenith  was  not  disposed  to  cavil.  The 
double-barrelled  oration,  the  elaborate  preparations,  the 
heavily  gorgeous  ceremonial,  all  satisfied  to  the  full  the 
village  sense  of  importance.  If  the  eyes  of  the  world 
were  not  upon  the  camp  now,  they  should  be,  and  that 
reflection  was  in  itself  ample  cause  for  pride;  but 
through  those  wearing  days  preceding  the  funeral 
Frances  was  conscious  of  an  ever-increasing  admiration 
for  Garvin.  He  was  constantly  appealed  to  to  decide 
matters  of  opinion — the  proper  width  of  satin  ribbon — 
roses  or  lilies — which  of  the  various  costly  laces  should 
enshroud  the  frail  figure  which  lay  in  sculptured,  ala 
baster  indifference  to  the  gauds  with  which  she  had 
struggled  so  feverishly  to  conceal  and  decorate  the 
menacing  shape  of  Death. 

Garvin  gave  to  these  matters  his  complete,  if  often 
perplexed,  consideration.  It  was  evident  that  he  was 
determined  that  everything,  even  down  to  the  smallest 
detail,  should  be  directed  in  accordance  with  what  Lutie 
would  have  preferred  and  what  he  personally  loathed; 
but  as  soon  as  the  last  possible  tribute,  the  most  infini- 

156 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

tesimal  grain  of  "  mint,  anise,  and  cummin  "  had  been 
paid,  he  had  clasped  Frances's  hand  strongly  for  a 
moment,  muttered  some  broken  words  of  appreciation 
of  her  kindness,  and  journeyed  away,  none  knew 
whither.  That  he  had  taken  Angel  with  him,  in  charge 
of  two  Chinese  servants,  was,  however,  a  matter  of 
heartfelt  congratulation  throughout  the  village. 

"  My  patience ! "  said  Mrs.  Thomas,  shaking  her 
head  solemnly.  "  Every  woman  in  this  camp  ought  to 
be  right  down  on  her  marrow-bones  praisin'  the  Lord 
that  Walt  didn't  ask  none  of  us  to  keep  that  child  while 
he  was  gone.  He  told  several  of  my  gentlemen  friends 
that  he  was  going  away,  an'  one  of  'em  mentioned  it 
the  other  evenin'  while  I  was  entertainin'  callers,  just 
spoke  of  it  casual-like,  you  know,  the  way  men  do.  My 
patience !  It  give  me  such  a  turn  that  I  mos'  fainted 
dead  away.  I  says  real  quick  to  Dan  Mayhew,  '  Hand 
me  that  newspaper  to  fan  with.'  *  Air  you  sick, 
Marthy  ?  '  he  asks.  *  Not  but  what  I  may  be  worse,'  I 
answers ;  an'  I  tell  you  I  spoke  from  my  heart. 

"  Well,  I  bore  up  as  well  as  I  could  all  evening,  all 
the  time  tryin'  my  hardest  to  think  what  was  the  best 
to  do,  'cause,  as  you  girls  all  know,  Walt's  awful  good, 
an'  our  men  are  all  more  or  less  obligated  to  him,  an' 
if  he  should  be  goin'  to  ask  me  to  keep  Angel,  I  didn't 
see  how  I  could  refuse.  I  thought  an'  thought  about 
it  all  night,  an'  the  next  mornin'  I  got  up  bright  an' 
early,  tore  my  bed  to  pieces,  an'  made  it  up  all  fresh, 
turnin'  the  covers  back,  ready  to  jump  in  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Then  I  called  the  children  together,  an'  I  says, 

157 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

very  solemn :  *  Now,  I  want  you  kids  to  listen  to  what 
Mommie  says,  an*  it's  this:  I  may  be  took  very  sick 
before  the  day's  over;  I  can't  tell  yet;  but  if  the  Lord 
should  see  fit  to  afflict  me,  which  you'll  know  by  me 
groanin'  in  bed,  you  ain't  to  show  no  surprise.  If  you 
do,  it's  a  lickin'  apiece.  You  mind  now.' ' 

Her  three  bosom  friends  nodded  sympathetically. 
Mrs.  Landvetter  sighed  deeply  and  clicked  her  lace 
needles  together,  always  with  her  an  unfailing  sign  of 
mental  perturbation.  "  Ven  I  heard  he  go,  I  tremble 
all  over  like  yelly  for  two  whole  days,"  she  mur 
mured. 

"  I  went  a-fishin',"  said  Mrs.  Nitschkan  happily. 

"  I  wasted  no  time  in  layin'  out  a  strip  of  red  flan 
nel,"  remarked  Mrs.  Evans  decisively,  "  pinned  it  round 
my  arm,  so  as  to  have  it  handy  to  tie  my  face  up  in 
if  Walt  come  a-knockin'  at  the  door.  There's  nothin' 
like  an  ulcerated  tooth  in  such  emergencies.  It  stands 
for  itself.  It  don't  need  no  explanations,  an'  it's  known 
to  last  a  week  or  more,  an'  take  your  mind  off  every 
thing  else." 

Her  companions  hastened  to  pay  her  their  accus 
tomed  tribute  of  admiration.  No  matter  what  the  per 
plexities  of  the  situation,  they  were  so  easily  dominated 
by  Mrs.  Evans  that  her  awed  friends  could  almost  see 
the  eagle's  wings  with  which  she  soared  above  all  mun 
dane  difficulties. 

"  We  ain't  all  got  your  wits,  Effie,"  Mrs.  Thomas 
gently  reminded  her,  "  but  in  our  poor  weak  way  we 
done  the  best  we  could.  I  had  a  kind  of  a  scare  that 

158 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

the  burden  might  fall  on  Missioner,  an'  I  knew  if  it 
did,  all  the  half -saved  souls  in  this  camp  would  jus* 
fall  back  into  the  pit,  'cause  she'd  have  time  for  nothin' 
but  that  devil  child." 

"  That's  true  as  you're  alive ! "  agreed  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan,  rising  and  buttoning  her  man's  coat  about  her 
burly  figure.  "  But  entertainin'  as  you  ladies  are,  I  got 
to  go  home  an'  finish  my  house-cleanin'." 

Had  a  bolt  of  lightning  fallen  from  a  clear  sky  it 
would  have  produced  about  the  same  effect  as  this 
apparently  simple  and  matter-of-fact  announcement. 
An  expression  of  dismay  spread  over  each  slightly 
paling  face,  furtive  glances  were  exchanged,  and  one 
or  two  of  the  ladies  opened  their  mouths  as  if  about  to 
speak,  and  then  hastily  closed  them ;  but  if  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan  noticed  these  signs  of  consternation,  she  had  rea 
sons  of  her  own  for  ignoring  them,  and  it  was  not  until 
she  was  well  out  of  sight  that  her  companions  per 
mitted  themselves  a  free  expression  of  opinion. 

"  She's  a-goin'  a-gipsyin'  again ! "  said  Mrs.  Thomas 
in  a  tense,  sibilant  whisper.  "  You  all  know  there  ain't 
nothin'  else  on  earth  or  heaven  that  can  ever  make  her 
clean  house.  Yes,  she's  a-fixin'  to  go  gipsyin'.  Effie," 
turning  appealingly  to  Mrs.  Evans,  "  can't  you  stop 
her?  " 

"  I  ain't  never  been  able  to  before,"  replied  Mrs. 
Evans  shortly,  with  a  tightening  of  the  lips.  It  was 
always  bitter  to  her  to  admit  failure. 

"  Still,  she  von't  neffer  leave  until  after  de  raspberry 
festival,"  advanced  Mrs.  Landvetter  hopefully.  "  She 

159 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

von't  neffer  go  till  she  see  how  dat  turn  oudt;  vedder 
Myrtle  or  Susie  gets  Preacher." 

Mrs.  Evans  threw  her  one  steel-hard,  flashing  glance. 
"  They's  no  question  of  that  kind,  Mrs.  Landvetter," 
she  answered  haughtily.  "  That  matter  is  practically 
settled.  Myrtle,  for  all  she's  so  brazen,  has  no  show." 

"  'Course,"  agreed  Mrs.  Thomas,  in  hasty  and  spe 
cious  compromise.  "  It's  what  we've  all  said  time  an' 
time  again,  times  without  number,"  her  imagination 
soaring.  "  But,  girls,  trouble  is  comin'  thick  an'  fast 
on  us  if  Sadie  is  really  thinkin'  of  goin'  gipsyin'.  It's 
worse  most  than  havin'  to  take  care  of  Angel,  for  it 
means  her  four  kids,  the  worst  here  or  anywheres  else, 
turned  loose  on  this  camp." 

But  to  explain  in  a  measure  this  seemingly  imminent 
catastrophe  with  which  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  friends  felt 
themselves  unable  to  cope:  For  some  reason,  perhaps 
the  call  of  her  gipsy  blood,  at  intervals  of  two  or  three 
years,  the  mountain  woman  became  beset  with  longing 
for  a  life  more  thoroughly  in  the  open  than  the  one 
she  enjoyed.  She  was  one  of  those  restless,  variable 
beings  to  whom  the  "  long,  brown  path,"  with  its  thou 
sand  possibilities  and  surprises,  makes  an  irresistible 
appeal. 

When  this  desire  of  the  hills  came  upon  her,  she 
stayed  not  upon  the  order  of  her  going,  but  joyously 
rose  up  to  follow  her  vagrant  impulses. 

After  some  slight  pretence  of  setting  her  house  in 
order,  which  she  dignified  by  the  name  of  house-clean 
ing,  she  would  depart,  taking  with  her  a  camping  outfit, 

160 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

and  would  be  gone  a  month,  six  weeks,  two  months,  at 
last  returning  hale,  tanned,  and  hearty,  full  of  new 
life  and  laughter,  her  larder  enriched  with  bear  and 
venison,  fish  and  fowl,  and  her  tongue  quick  with  a 
score  of  fisherman's  and  hunter's  yarns  to  enliven  the 
evenings  for  her  husband  and  the  lean,  brown  prospec 
tors,  when  they  gathered  in  her  cabin  to  play  poker  and 
pinochle  through  the  long  winter  nights. 

"  It  ain't  no  use  sayin'  a  word  to  her,"  Mrs.  Thomas 
continued  to  mourn.  "  Last  time  we  got  wind  of  her 
traipsin'  off,  we  got  the  Bishop  to  talk  to  her,  an'  he 
did;  but  as  near  as  I  can  make  out  she  jus'  twisted 
him  around  her  finger.  He  says  to  her  in  that  mild  way 
he  has,  he  says :  '  Mis'  Nitschkan,  frankly  now,  do  you 
think  you  ought  to  evade  your  sacred  duties  of  wife  an' 
mother,  by  takin'  to  the  woods  this  way  ? ' 

"  '  Gosh  a'mighty ! '  answers  Nitschkan,  as  quick  as 
you  please,  '  when  I  been  in  the  woods  I  see  the  mother 
birds  shove  the  young  ones  outen  the  nest  an'  make  'em 
learn  to  fly,  whether  they  wanted  to  or  not.  They  was 
give  their  wings  to  fly  with,  wasn't  they?  Now,  Bishop, 
kids  was  give  their  hands,  an'  feet,  an'  eyes  to  use,  an* 
the  way  to  teach  'em  anything  is  to  make  'em  use  'em, 
an'  give  their  mommie  a  chanst  to  rest  sometimes. 
Them  kids'll  get  along  all  right,  if  you  don't  bother.' 

"  An'  would  you  believe  it,  the  Bishop  says  to  me 
afterward :  *  I  do'  know,'  he  says,  '  if  Mis'  Nitschkan 
ain't  a-showin'  a  beautiful  trust,  leavin'  her  children  in 
the  hands  of  the  Lord  like  that.'  But,  as  I  told  him, 
right  to  his  face,  too,  I  wisht  she'd  take  to  showin* 

161 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

her  trust  some  way  that  wouldn't  wear  her  friends  to 
the  bone. 

"  Well,  you  girls  know  how  quick  I  am  to  feel  things, 
an'  for  the  past  week  or  two  I  been  sensin'  trouble, 
smellin'  it  like,  y'  know.  Here's  Bob  Flick  up  here,  an* 
everybody  knows  he's  been  crazy  about  the  Black  Pearl 
for  years;  an'  Shock  O'Brien  as  jealous  as  can  be.  I 
tell  you  it  means  a  shootin'  affray  or  somethin'." 

Mrs.  Evans's  eyebrows  twitched  impatiently :  "  You 
mean  a  shootin'  scrape  or  a  cuttin'  affray,  Marthy. 
Don't  you  never  read  the  papers?  But  I  guess  there's 
no  danger  of  such  things.  I  guess  you  think  trouble's 
comin'  'cause  you  feel  kind  o'  uneasy  yourself.  Mar 
thy,"  with  an  irritated  and  accusing  glance,  "  it's  been 
some  time  since  Dan  Mayhew  sassed  your  best  friends 
and  throwed  it  in  their  faces  that  he  was  goin'  down 
to  ask  you  to  marry  him ;  but  although  he  sits  in  your 
parlour  night  after  night,  you  ain't  seen  fit  to  confide  in 
them  as  have  hauled  you  out  of  too  many  bogs  to  be 
receivin'  any  such  treatment." 

At  this  indictment  of  her  sins  of  omission  Mrs. 
Thomas's  pink  and  white  face  flushed  deeply  and  she 
pouted  like  a  child. 

"  I  ain't  made  no  choice,"  twisting  her  handkerchief 
between  her  fingers.  "  It's — it's  more  fun  bein'  a  widow 
than  I  thought  it  was  goin'  to  be,  an',"  in  defiant  pride, 
"  they's  more  than  Dan  Mayhew  wants  me ;  they's — 
they's " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  contemptuously,  "  I 
make  no  doubt  you're  willin'  to  waste  your  time  on  a 

162 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

dozen  of  'em.  Seth  not  six  months  in  his  grave,  an'  you 
a-entertainin'  callers  every  evenin'.  No  wonder  you're 
the  talk  of  the  camp." 

Mrs.  Thomas  stirred  rebelliously.  "  I  don't  care,  I 
don't  care,"  she  cried ;  "  they're  bound  to  talk  about 
somebody.  It  ain't  so  long  since  they  was  clatterin' 
their  tongues  over  you,  Effie  Evans." 

Mrs.  Evans  winced,  but  nevertheless  maintained  her 
habitual  attitude  of  superior  and  slightly  contemp 
tuous  aloofness.  "  They  ain't  never  spoke  light  of  me 
with  any  man,"  she  said  with  meaning. 

The  blow  drew  blood.  "  That's  your  blamed  luck," 
retorted  Mrs.  Thomas  bitterly.  "  You  know  very  well 
what  the  Psalmist  or  somebody,  I  don't  just  remember 
who, — says, — I  heard  it  once  in  a  recitation,  '  Be  you 
chaste  as  ice  an'  pure  as  snow,  there's  always  somebody 
mean  an'  ornery  enough  to  throw  mud  at  you.' " 

"  Veil,  veil,  veil,"  put  in  Mrs.  Landvetter  soothingly, 
"  this  ain't  a-decidin'  vat  ve  goin'  to  do  about  Mis' 
Nitschkan." 

"  I  don't  see  nothin'  to  do  at  the  present  time,"  said 
Mrs.  Evans,  "  unless  we  lay  the  matter  before  Mis- 
sioner;  she  might  have  some  influence  with  Sadie." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Thomas,  with  restored 
cheerfulness ;  "  it's  her  business  to  be  always  ready  with 
spiritual  advice  an'  to  bear  our  burdens  for  us ;  though 
I  will  say,  an'  I  got  a  right  to  say  it,  for  no  one  feels 
kinder  to  her  than  I  do,  that  she  don't  always  take  to 
burden-bearin'  as  cheerful  an'  willin'  as  a  person  ought 
to  that's  got  that  privilege." 

163 


The  three  then,  having  decided  upon  this  course  of 
action,  wasted  no  time  in  acquainting  Frances  with 
the  nature  of  this  especial  burden  they  proposed  to 
bind  upon  her  shoulders;  but  although  she  listened, 
as  always,  patiently  to  the  plaints  borne  her,  the  mat 
ter  of  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  impending  gipsying  appeared 
too  remote  and  unimportant  an  event  to  command  her 
entire  attention ;  and  if  the  worried  little  group  had 
realised  how  quickly  she  dismissed  the  subject  from  her 
mind,  they  would  have  considered  Mrs.  Thomas  fully 
justified  in  her  criticisms.  There  were,  however,  sev 
eral  reasons,  reasons  more  potent  and  obscure  than 
Frances  herself  dreamed,  for  her  unusual  preoccupa 
tion.  Not  given  to  introspection — the  circumstances  of 
her  life  had  precluded  that — she  ascribed  this  strange, 
new  absorption  to  one  cause — the  inheritance  of  wealth 
which  had  suddenly  befallen  her,  as  with  unwonted 
playfulness  she  described  it  to  Herries.  A  poor  treasure 
to  the  average  gold-seeker,  but  one  which  the  old  man 
at  least  appreciated;  for  the  mine-owner  had  left  his 
house  open  in  the  care  of  servants  during  his  absence, 
and  in  those  last  few  words  with  Frances,  just  before 
his  departure,  had  besought  her  to  make  free  use  of 
his  library,  and  she  had,  with  a  grateful  heart,  accepted 
his  invitation. 

She  had  always  been  fond  of  reading,  but  her  life 
had  been  too  busy  a  one,  her  faculties  too  much  trained 
in  one  direction — the  effort  "  to  soothe  and  to  solace, 
to  help  and  to  heal  the  sick  world  that  leaned  on  her  " — 
to  permit  her  to  give  either  time  or  an  undivided  atten- 

164 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

tion  to  books ;  but  Garvin's  interest  and  enthusiasm  had 
aroused  and  stimulated  hers,  and  she  was  becoming 
more  and  more  conscious  of  developing  mental  powers 
which  demanded  nutriment,  and  stretched  out  eager 
tentacles  toward  the  rich  sustenance  on  his  shelves. 

With  the  end  in  view  of  obtaining  time  for  reading, 
she  had,  with  her  usual  energy  and  by  the  exercise  of 
her  superior  executive  ability,  so  far  succeeded  in 
systematising  her  work  that  she  was  able,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  to  claim  as  her  own  several  hours  a 
day.  These  she  devoted  to  the  new  and  fascinating 
diversion  of  reading  books;  and  now  and  again  oc 
curred  seasons  when,  during  the  long  brilliant  days  of 
summer,  and  sometimes  far  into  the  fresh,  cool  nights, 
she  read,  read  with  the  avidity  of  the  eager  and  seeking 
mind  long  deprived  of  food. 

In  those  weeks  of  Garvin's  absence  she  went  through 
many  books,  tearing  the  heart  from  some  of  them,  and 
deeply  pondering  and  rereading  others.  She  was  too 
familiar  with  the  Bible  not  to  turn  instinctively  to  the 
best  and  most  sincere  literature ;  but  she  was  also  too 
lacking  in  any  universal  range  of  acquirement  or  cul 
tivation,  too  fully  of  her  own  time,  adequately  to  appre 
ciate  the  great  masters  of  earlier  eras,  those  mellow  men 
of  the  world  whose  style  but  reflected  the  polished  and 
tempered  steel  of  their  minds. 

It  was  to  more  modern  masters,  to  Emerson  and 
Hawthorne  that  she  naturally  and  finally  turned.  To 
Emerson  the  mystic  in  her  made  quick  response,  and 
not  only  the  mystic,  but  the  lover  of  unhampered,  inde- 

165 


pendent  thought  and  action.  To  her  he  was  always 
"  the  friend  and  helper  of  all  who  would  live  the  life  of 
the  spirit " ;  and  throughout  her  life,  phrases  and  para 
graphs  from  his  essays  remained  in  her  memory  as 
shining  strands  of  living  light. 

She  would  sometimes  sit  beside  her  table  far  into  the 
night  reading  his  pages,  until  the  lamp  burned  dim 
and  low;  but  it  was  by  some  instinctive  selection  of  a 
fitting  environment  that  she  reserved  Hawthorne  for  the 
soft,  scented  gloom  of  the  pine  glades,  or  the  rocky 
ledges  of  the  hillsides,  where  the  sound  of  the  plashing, 
falling  water  sang  in  her  ears  and  the  wind  whirled  the 
sun-flecked,  flickering  shadows  of  the  aspens  over  her 
open  book.  With  the  wood-silence  about  her,  the  wind 
stirring  the  hair  on  her  brow,  she  read  those  mysterious, 
beauty-haunted  pages,  her  imagination  captured  and 
enthralled  until  she  did  not  feel  the  wind,  nor  see  the 
shadows  chase  and  fly.  Into  the  tales  she  plunged  as 
might  one  into  some  deep,  limpid  pool,  and  rose  invig 
orated  with  the  cold,  pure  refreshment  of  the  "  ethereal 
water." 

But  she  did  not  always  read.  There  were  hours  when 
she  wandered  up  the  slopes  of  the  hillsides  and  into  the 
depths  of  pine  gloom,  when  she  stood  on  the  edge  of 
steeps  which  fell  away  so  sharply  and  abysmally  that 
the  eye  plunged  happily  through  the  dense  bracken 
and  the  brown  and  purple  trunks  of  the  giant  pines 
into  the  deeps  of  deer-haunted  shadow.  Again  she 
would  wander  to  some  more  level  spot,  where  the  pines 
grew  low  and  spreading,  their  branches  twisted  and  dis- 

166 


CHAPTER     TWELVE 

torted  into  strange  and  grotesque  shapes  by  the  mighty 
mountain  winds ;  but  if  bent  and  stunted,  they  were 
strong.  They  had  prevailed,  and  stood  but  the  more 
deeply  rooted  in  the  soil,  ever  sending  out  new  but 
tresses  against  the  rushing  legions  of  the  enemy.  Their 
flat,  mossy  tops  they  spread  in  air,  black,  green,  blue, 
russet,  silver,  in  the  sea  of  sunlight  they  floated  on ; 
but  beneath  the  branches  brooded  the  peace  won  through 
resistance,  and  in  the  long  aisles  was  the  dim,  mysterious 
light  of  the  pine  woods,  sunlight  falling  through  close- 
meshed  nets  of  green. 

It  was  always  very  still  there;  the  foot  sank  noise 
lessly  into  the  faded  brown  carpet  of  last  year's  needles, 
and  there  was  fragrance,  austere,  balsamic — and  music. 

About  the  high,  white  peaks  the  winds  roar  and 
scream,  or  wail  and  mourn  down  the  gulches,  or  whisper 
and  murmur  among  the  aspens  and  maples;  but  in  the 
pine  forests  it  sings  the  songs  of  the  sea ;  sometimes  the 
rippling  melody  of  the  surf  washing  softly  against 
the  shore,  and  again  the  organ  roll  of  the  solemn,  ma 
jestic  ocean  surges;  but  always  the  sea  music. 

Ah,  there  is  magic  in  the  pine  forests !  One  hears  un 
translatable  harmonies ;  one  sees  strange  subtleties  of 
colour,  and  the  fragrance  is  the  complement  of  both. 
Frances  loved  the  pine  glooms.  She  would  sometimes 
spend  hours  within  the  shadowy  aisles,  an  ascetic,  black- 
robed  figure,  with  pale,  uplifted  face,  drawn  back,  it 
would  seem,  by  the  weight  of  hair ;  but  there  was  noth 
ing  ascetic  in  her  glowing  eyes  and  smiling  mouth  as 
she  listened  to  the  sea-music  the  wind  sang  to  the  pines, 

167 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

and  inhaled  the  pine  fragrance  with  a  rapture  which 
no  flower  scents  could  give  her;  until  the  grey,  shack 
ling  chrysalis  of  her  past  life  would  fall  from  her  and 
she  would  feel  the  soar  and  lift  of  wings,  while  from 
some  depth  of  being  there  welled  the  thrilling  impulse 
of  joy. 

And  daily  the  world  as  she  had  known  it  in  her  busy, 
practical  life — a  sordid,  cruel,  and  ugly  fact — became 
to  her  as  fugitive  and  unsubstantial  as  a  smoke  wreath. 
Its  boundaries,  once  so  fixed  and  solid,  melted  into  new 
and  bewildering  vistas.  She  awakened  each  morning  to 
golden  mirages  pictured  on  rainbow  horizons.  What 
wonder  that  her  face  changed,  her  smile  and  her  eyes 
deepened,  until  Zenith  speculated  freely  upon  probable 
causes.  She  had  a  beautiful  secret  singing  in  her  heart ; 
a  secret  with  an  inner  meaning  still  unsuspected  by 
herself.  She  thought  it  whispered  to  her  of  new  worlds, 
fair,  shining  worlds  of  light  and  beauty,  to  which  she, 
a  shabby,  plain,  uneducated  little  Missionary,  had  dis 
covered  the  open  sesame. 

Garvin,  too,  held  the  key.  Of  that  she  was  sure. 
Had  not  his  face  shone  and  his  eyes  brightened  when 
ever  he  spoke  to  her  of  books  and  of  nature?  It  was  a 
secret  they  two  held  together. 

At  last  she  knew  a  deep,  personal  happiness,  never 
dreaming  that  the  causes  to  which  she  attributed  it 
were  inadequate.  But  for  her,  old  things  were  forever 
passed  away  and  all  things  were  made  new.  Her  nights 
were  white,  her  days  were  gold.  New  streams  of  life  and 
joy  flowed  to  her  from  illimitable  sources,  washing  away 

168 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

old  conceptions  and  revealing  to  her  fresh  and  shim 
mering  dawns  of  wonder. 

We  treat  birth  and  death  as  vast,  far-off  events ;  one 
the  beginning,  the  other  the  close  of  all  earthly  expe 
riences  ;  but  in  reality  they  are  daily  and  hourly  epi 
sodes  in  consciousness  tending  to  one  end — life.  To 
stagnate  is  to  perish ;  to  stretch  out  welcoming  hands  to 
to-morrow  with  whatever  it  may  bring  is  to  continue  to 
exist.  "  Ye  must  be  born  again ! "  is  the  fiat  of  life ; 
but  equally  so  is  St.  Paul's  triumphant  psean :  "  I  die 
daily." 


169 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 

/\UGUST  was  passing,  and  as  her  hours  drew  to  a 
close  she  began  to  spin  rainbow  veils  of  illusion  all  of 
sun-films  and  purple  hazes.  White  puffs  of  seeds  floated 
over  the  grasses  and  through  the  air,  and  the  spiders, 
eternal  spinners,  spilled  broadcast  their  silken,  silver 
skeins. 

Frances  would  often  stand  at  her  doorway  in  the 
morning  and  watch  those  floating  webs  sagging  with 
the  diamond  sparkle  of  dewdrops.  The  snow  had  melted 
from  all  save  the  highest  peaks,  the  earth  was  warmed 
to  her  heart  and  lay  basking  in  sun-flooded  content, 
sending  up  toward  the  sky  the  incense  of  her  myriad 
and  delicate  fragrances ;  and  because  of  the  happiness 
in  her  own  heart,  Frances  grew  to  know  the  earth  as 
a  mother.  She  could  feel  about  her  the  maternal,  en 
folding  arms,  and  was  privileged  to  listen  to  what  only 
a  few  ever  hear,  the  song  of  the  globe  as  it  rolls  in  its 
orbit — a  song  of  joy — the  eternal  joy  that  lies  at  the 
heart  of  the  universe;  and  in  the  dim  woods  of  purple 
shadow,  in  the  arrowy  rush  of  the  mountain  streams, 
she  caught  continual  echoes  of  the  insistent  whisper: 
"  You  are  the  daughter  of  my  bounteous  and  teeming 
life;  for  you  I  have  spread  my  broad,  clear,  happy 
spaces,  for  you  is  the  healing  silence  of  my  forests,  for 
you  I  spin  my  iridescent  glories  of  light  and  colour. 

170 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

Then  live ;  it  is  thus  that  you  express  your  being  which 
is  mine.  Live!  That  is  Life's  eternal,  irrefutable  man 
date." 

And  Frances  listened,  dwelling  in  her  world  of 
dreams.  She  had  had  no  word  from  Garvin,  and  yet  she 
knew,  through  the  subtle  avenues  of  intuition  and 
sympathy,  that  she  was  in  his  thoughts  as  he  was 
in  hers. 

In  her  frequent  visits  to  his  library  she  was  often 
accompanied  by  Herries,  who  had  long  been  one  of  the 
pensioners  of  Garvin's  intellectual  bounty,  and  although 
their  literary  tastes  were  antipathetic,  he  and  Frances 
browsed  amiably  enough  over  the  books,  in  spite  of  his 
somewhat  irritating  fashion  of  pulling  one  volume  after 
another  from  the  shelves,  turning  over  the  pages,  read 
ing  a  few  words  here  and  there,  and  calling  out  in 
stentorian  bitterness :  "  Lies  !  Lies !  " 

One  morning  when  the  Missionary  and  himself  had 
started  for  the  Pierian  spring  on  the  flats,  the  old  man's 
arms  full  of  books  which  he  and  she  were  returning  to 
their  proper  places  on  the  shelves,  Frances  paused  a 
moment  to  speak  to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  who  was  industri 
ously  weeding  in  the  little  garden  before  her  trim,  toy- 
like  house,  carefully  removing  every  intruding,  way 
side  plant  which  had  crept  among  her  scarlet  geraniums 
and  yellow  zinnias  flaring  crudely  in  the  morning  sun 
shine. 

"  Don't  you  find  it  warm,  Mrs.  O'Brien,  weeding 
without  a  hat  ?  "  called  Frances. 

"  No-o."  The  dancer  rose  slowly  to  her  feet  and 
171 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

came  toward  them  with  her  languid  and  inimitable 
grace.  "  No,  I  like  the  heat.  Was  you  ever  down  in 
the  desert,  Missioner?  "  she  asked,  with  apparent  irrel 
evance,  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  bars  of  the  gate  and 
sinking  her  chin  in  the  palms  of  her  hands. 

The  mountains  afforded  a  blue  and  green  back 
ground,  serene,  remote,  in  the  sun-flooded  atmosphere; 
but  in  all  this  harmony  of  nature,  the  Black  Pearl,  in 
her  dull  blue  dress,  standing  among  the  scentless  red 
and  yellow  flowers  of  her  garden,  was  a  startling  and 
nerve-thrilling  discord. 

"  The  desert ! "  repeated  Frances  in  a  surprised  tone. 
"  Why,  yes ;  I  lived  there  for  a  while." 

"  An*  me,"  drawled  Mrs.  O'Brien  in  her  soft,  lazy 
voice.  "  I  don't  like  the  mountains.  I  always  feel  like 
they  was  goin'  to  fall  on  me  an'  smother  me.  An'  you 
get  to  the  top  of  'em  where  you  think  you  can  breathe 
an'  there's  ranges  an'  ranges  beyond.  I  want  places 
where  they  ain't  nothin'  to  shut  you  in."  rebelliously ; 
"  where  you  can  feel  free." 

Frances  gazed  at  her  with  puzzled  eyes;  but  the 
Pearl's  wistful,  resentful  glance  was  far  beyond  her. 
"  Perhaps  the  rare  air  doesn't  agree  with  you,"  sug 
gested  the  Missionary. 

"  Oh,  I'm  well  enough.  I'm  always  well.  I  guess  may 
be  I'm  pinin'  for  a  little  excitement,"  she  smiled  her 
crooked,  fascinating  smile  at  Herries. 

"  Then  you  need  look  no  further."  His  cold  blue 
eyes  held  the  Pearl's  veiled  gaze  for  a  moment,  and 
then  it  wandered  to  the  hills  she  loathed.  He  leaned 

172 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

against  the  paling  fence  watching  her,  a  figure  of 
distinction  even  in  his  clean,  shrunken,  patched  clothes 
and  heavy  boots.  Over  his  flannel  shirt  flowed  his  white 
beard,  and  his  strong  profile  was  outlined  against  the 
gold  light  of  the  morning — a  profile  hawk-like,  cruel 
and  fine,  with  the  long  droop  of  the  lids  at  the  corners 
over  the  keen  eyes,  the  sharp  aquiline  curve  of  the 
nose,  the  bitter,  ironic  lines  of  the  mouth. 

"  Excitement !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  might  travel 
the  world  over  and  you  wouldn't  find  as  much  excite 
ment  in  the  whole  journey  as  you  can  get  any  day  in 
Zenith.  Why,  Mrs.  O'Brien,  this  camp  fairly  tingles 
with  excitement.  There  is  the  true  neighbourly  spirit 
here.  They  know  not  only  what  is  going  on  in  your 
house,  but  in  your  soul."  He  laughed  his  single,  harsh 
croak.  "  Here's  the  raspberry  social  coming  on.  It  may 
seem  only  a  dance  and  a  supper  to  you ;  but  to  us  that 
have  got  any  sporting  blood  in  us,  it's  the  last  of  a 
match  game,  where  Myrtle  Swanstrom  and  Mrs.  Evans 
are  to  play  off  their  finals.  Out  in  the  world,  beyond 
those  blue  mountains,  they  have  their  whist  and  chess 
tournaments  and  play  for  some  tuppenny  stake  or  other ; 
but  in  Zejiith  the  stakes  are  hearts  and  lives.  If  it  ain't 
exciting  watching  that  kind  of  a  game,  what  is?  And 
it  will  be  exciting  all  right.  Frank  McGuire  has  stated 
publicly  that  he'll  have  his  answer  that  night." 

"  I  didn't  think  of  it  so  until  you  put  me  wise," 
the  Pearl  smiled  cynically  and  understandingly.  "  I 
been  used  to  seein'  the  game  played  that  way  my 
self." 

173 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

The  conversation  seemed  to  Frances  to  have,  in  some 
way,  slipped  beyond  her.  She  looked  from  Mrs. 
O'Brien  to  Herries  with  a  slightly  bewildered  expres 
sion,  and  the  Black  Pearl,  seeing  it,  with  the  faintest 
of  shrugs  and  the  smallest  of  expressive  glances,  the 
mere  flutter  of  an  eyelid  toward  Herries,  changed  the 
subject. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along  without  Angel,  Mr. 
Herries  ?  " 

"  I'm  too  busy  looking  after  her  infernal  pets  to 
miss  her  much.  Here's  where  her  damnable  coon-cat, 
appropriately  called  Lambie,  scratched  me  yesterday." 
He  held  up  a  torn  finger.  "  And  if  I  hadn't  had  on  my 
high  boots  '  White  Puppy,'  as  vicious  a  bull  as  ever 
barked,  would  have  taken  a  piece  out  of  my  leg  this 
morning.  Her  parrot  and  her  squirrels  do  their  best  to 
nip  me,  too.  Her  last  words  were :  *  Be  taref  ul  how 
you  handle  rem,  Herries,  'ay's  full  of  ginger.'  "  The 
old  man's  face  shone  with  pride.  "  She  said  she  was 
going  to  bring  a  monkey  back  with  her,  and  she  will, 
too,  if  she  stays  in  the  same  mind.  It  wouldn't  surprise 
me  if  she  brought  a  lion-cub,  and  she'd  tame  it,  mind 
you;  she'd  tame  it." 

"  Ain't  she  the  queer  one,  though  ?  "  commented  the 

Pearl.  "  She  certainly "  She  broke  off  suddenly 

and  peered  up  the  road.  "  Why,  here  come  Ethel  and 
Mr.  Campbell.  Ethel,  she's  a-tryin'  to  save  my  soul, 
now  that  Mis'  Garvin's  passed  beyond  her  experiments." 
She  laughed  mockingly,  and  Frances  failed  to  repress 
a  slight  start.  Mrs.  O'Brien  fortunately  laughed  rarely, 

174 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

but  when  she  did,  it  was  apt  to  jar  on  the  nerves  of  her 
hearers,  provided  they  were  at  all  sensitive.  It  was  low 
laughter,  but  coarse  and  curiously  unmodulated. 

Down  the  road,  a  faint  cloud  of  dust  rising  about 
them,  came  the  Salvation  Army  girl  and  old  Andrew 
Campbell ;  Ethel,  slim  and  swaying  in  her  straight  blue 
gown,  her  bonnet  swung  from  her  arm  by  the  strings, 
and  the  sun  turning  the  pale  gold  of  her  hair  to  shining 
silver  strands. 

As  for  Mr.  Campbell,  who  stepped  out  firmly  by  her 
side,  holding  a  staff  taller  than  himself,  he  seemed  to 
have  undergone  some  vital  and  transforming  change. 
He  wore  his  Sunday  suit  of  shiny,  black  broadcloth, 
and  over  his  gleaming  white  shirt  flowed  a  black  silk 
necktie,  this  last  a  most  unaccustomed  concession  to  the 
conventionalities.  The  tangled  mass  of  hair  which  usu 
ally  hung  about  his  head  and  face  in  wild  disorder  was 
combed  and  brushed  into  a  semblance  of  beard  and 
whisker.  The  look  of  blank  dreaming  had  passed  from 
his  eyes,  and,  as  Frances  immediately  noted,  they  wore, 
for  the  first  time,  according  to  her  observation,  an  ex 
pression  of  limpid  tranquillity. 

"  We're  a-goin'  to  Mount  Tabor,"  called  out  Ethel 
to  the  little  group  at  the  gate  before  she  reached  them, 
breathless  with  the  importance  of  her  tidings.  "  Mr. 
Campbell's  goin'  to  address  a  meetin'  this  afternoon, 
an'  maybe  to-night.  Yes,  he  is,"  as  if  meeting  doubt  of 
her  statement.  "  They've  been  a-wantin'  him  for  a  good 
long  time,  but  though  I  been  a-coaxin'  him  day  in  an* 
day  out,  I  couldn't  get  him  to  say  he'd  go." 

175 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

"  How  could  I  when  my  lips  were  sealed  ?  "  asked 
Campbell.  "  There  was  naught  to  say." 

"  But  it's  all  right  now,"  returned  Ethel,  in  quick 
and  happy  assurance.  "  The  Word  came  to  you  in  the 
night.  Goodness !  "  turning  to  the  others,  "  I  don't  want 
to  live  through  another  such  week  as  this  last  one.  Me 
just  wild  for  him  to  accept  this  invitation  and  the  folks 
over  there  to  Mount  Tabor  wonderin'  why  we  was  actin' 
so  queer  an'  kind  of  holdin5  off:  an'  I  couldn't  tell  'em, 
'cause  they'd  never  understand  in  a  thousand  years." 

"  Then  the  Word  came,  the  swift,  dividing  sword  of 
the  Word,"  Campbell's  sonorous  voice  pealed  out  like 
a  chant  of  exultation.  The  strange  change  that  this 
coming  of  the  Word,  as  he  called  it,  always  brought, 
was  now  especially  manifest  in  him.  He  was  a  new 
creature,  erect,  alert,  informed  with  initiative  and 
decision. 

He  spoke  with  such  triumphant  assurance,  such  poign 
ant  conviction,  that  for  a  brief  moment,  to  Frances  at 
least,  the  tongues  of  fire  seemed  almost  to  glow  in  his 
eyes  and  to  flicker  about  his  head.  There  was  victory  in 
his  glance,  and  the  mystic  and  dreamer  in  the  Mission 
ary  saw  in  one  quickly  obscure  moment  of  belief  this 
half-mad  old  man  as  one  of  earth's  conquerors. 

At  his  first  words  Ethel  had  lifted  her  hand,  as  if  to 
still  the  very  breeze  that  swept  over  the  mountains, 
swayed  the  garish  flowers  of  the  Black  Pearl's  gar 
den,  stirred  the  grasses  by  the  wayside,  and  then 
dropped  with  a  falling  sigh  into  the  road  itself  to  send 
up  thin  spirals  and  faint  clouds  of  dust ;  and  now,  with 

176 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

her  hand  so  upheld,  she  stood  gazing  at  him  with  the 
ecstatic  eyes  of  the  disciple. 

Frances,  too,  leaned  forward,  the  hunger  for  right 
eousness  on  her  face.  She  had  forgotten  her  ivory 
gates  and  her  splendid  worlds,  with  their  fair  courts  and 
delicate  pleasances.  There  was  something  beyond  these, 
and  Campbell  had  spoken  of  it.  He  had  found  it.  Her 
arms  had  fallen  by  her  side,  her  dark,  earnest  gaze 
hung  on  the  old  man  as  if  awaiting  a  revelation. 

The  moment  of  silence  was  so  full  of  emotion  that 
even  in  the  clear  morning  sunlight,  beside  the  Black 
Pearl's  gaudy  flowers,  there  was  not  one  of  the  little 
group  who  did  not  feel  in  the  light  wind  which  lifted 
their  hair  and  brushed  their  cheeks  the  intangible,  float 
ing  wings  of  awe  and  wonder. 

"  But,  Ethel,"  Campbell  gripped  her  by  the  arm  and 
planted  his  tall  staff  firmly  on  the  ground,  "  we  must 
be  about  our  business,  our  Father's  business."  The  in 
effable  tenderness  of  his  words  expressed  itself  fitly 
through  the  solemn  music  of  his  voice.  The  girl  and 
himself  took  a  step  forward,  and  then  he  paused  and 
looked  back ;  a  shadow  passed  over  his  face  and  he  sighed. 
"  A  message  to  these,"  laying  a  detaining  hand  upon 
Ethel's  arm.  "  When  the  Word  comes,  I  see  far  into 
the  unseen,  and  this  world  is  a  dim,  grey  shadow — a 
mist  that  passes."  He  peered  into  Frances's  face. 
"  Roses !  Nay,  a  crown.  The  thistles  sting  and  prickle ; 
but  they  burst  into  queen's  purple."  He  sighed  again, 
and  dejection  fell  over  him.  Then  he  turned  his  eyes 
upon  the  Black  Pearl,  holding  her  with  his  clear,  intense 

177 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

gaze.  "  Repent  ye ! "  he  cried,  with  a  shudder.  "  Re 
pent  ye!  Now,  now,  lest  ye  be  purified  as  by  fire.  Lest 
ye?  Ye  will.  Your  heart,  which  is  as  dead  as  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah,  will  be  swept  by  fire.  Water  cannot 
cleanse  it.  I  have  given  you  the  Word  from  beyond  the 
veil.  Come,  Ethel." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Campbell."  It  was  almost  as  if  she  had 
murmured  "  Raboni." 

Without  a  word  the  three  at  the  gate  watched  the 
pair,  the  little  old  man  and  the  tall  young  girl  trudging 
on  through  the  shimmering,  golden  flood  of  the  morn 
ing. 

"My  Lord!"  said  the  Pearl  at  last.  "My  Lord! 
are  they  both  crazy,  or  is  it  something  else  ?  " 

"  I  was  taught  many  stern  doctrines  in  my  youth," 
Herries  laughed  shortly,  "  and  all  I  have  retained  is  a 
belief  in  original  sin."  He  showed  his  long  teeth.  "  But 
I've  got  something  in  my  blood — I'm  a  Scotchman,  and 
what  Campbell  calls  his  mysteries  are  to  many  of  us  the 
realities.  We  sense  things  the  world  refuses  to  accept; 
but,"  harking  back  to  an  old  cry,  "  crazy  or  not,  the 
old  man  saved  Ethel." 

"  Oh,  Ethel ! "  cried  Mrs.  O'Brien  contemptuously. 
"  She's  just  one  that  opens  her  mouth  and  swallows 
everything  you  give  her.  But,  my  Lord !  "  in  a  burst 
of  passionate  impatience,  "  who  wouldn't  be  half 
cracked  if  they  could  get  a  look  on  their  faces  like  they 
had!  Oh,  if  you  could  only  feel  dead  sure  of  things 
like  they  do,  what's  the  difference  whether  you're  be- 
lievin'  lies  or  truth — if  you  could  only  believe  'em? 

178 


CHAPTER     THIRTEEN 

Why,  Missioner,"  to  Frances,  "  the  Padre  down  in  the 
desert,  he  was  a  good,  kind  old  soul,  an'  he  used  to  hand 
me  out  a  line  of  talk  about  repentin'  an'  believin'  an' 
all  that,  an'  I  tried  to,  honest,  I  did ;  but  'twas  no  good 
— all  lies.  Yet,"  with  a  sort  of  wild  wistfulness,  "  I 
often  think  if  a  person  could  just  be  free — really 
free » 

"Free!"  cried  Herries  scornfully.  "Who's  free? 
We're  all  slaves  of  other  people  or  ourselves ;  and  if  we 
ever  do  succeed  in  getting  our  heads  out  of  one  noose, 
we  run  and  stick  'em  into  another.  Isn't  it  so,  Mis 
sioner?  " 

But  Frances,  as  if  acting  upon  a  sudden  impulse, 
had  started  forward  that  she  might  overtake  Ethel  and 
Campbell,  and  then  had  paused,  irresolutely.  Herries 
and  the  Black  Pearl  were  forgotten,  even  the  books  on 
Garvin's  shelves ;  for  the  spirit  of  her,  the  soul  of  the 
dreamer  and  mystic,  stirred  and  yearned. 


179 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

1  HE  day  of  the  momentous  and  eagerly  anticipated 
raspberry  festival  had  finally  arrived,  -and  Zenith,  as 
one  man,  made  joyous  preparation  to  see  Myrtle  and 
Mrs.  Evans  play  off  their  finals,  although  outwardly 
professing  merely  a  pious  desire  to  show  approval  of 
the  zeal  of  the  Aid  Society,  under  whose  competent 
management  the  festival  was  to  be  given,  the  proceeds 
of  the  dancing  and  refreshment  privileges  to  go  for 
a  new  melodeon  to  be  purchased  for  the  church. 

Just  as  the  afternoon  sun  was  sinking  behind  the 
peaks,  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  who  was  on  the  entertainment 
committee  for  the  evening,  and  who,  if  indications 
counted  for  anything,  would,  as  usual,  be  late,  hast 
ened  up  Sunshine  Avenue  toward  her  home,  fishing  rod 
in  hand  and  a  basket  of  brook  trout  over  her  arm.  As 
she  passed  the  O'Brien  home  she  paused  to  speak  to  the 
Black  Pearl,  who  stood  in  her  own  doorway. 

"Hello,  Pearl!"  called  the  hardy  gipsy  jovially. 
"  How  would  you  like  a  mess  of  brook  trout  ?  " 

"  First  rate,"  responded  the  Pearl  heartily.  "  You're 
all  right,  Nitschkan,  even  if  you  are  crazy  enough 
to  live  up  in  these  old  mountains — the  desert's  the 
place." 

Mrs.  Nitschkan  shook  her  head.  "  The  mountains  for 
mine,"  she  said  emphatically.  "  Look  at  the  fishin'  an' 

180 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

the  huntin';  nice  cool  streams  to  wade  in  an'  fish;  nice 
cool  woods  to  hunt  in,  an'  you  never  know  when  you're 
a-comin'  around  a  corner  an'  meet  a  bear  or  a  deer.  It's 

sure  the  woods  fer  mine.  I "  She  stopped  and 

peered  curiously  into  the  other  woman's  face. 

"  What's  that  mark  on  your  forehead,  Pearl  ?  You 
must  have  got  an  awful  whack  some  way." 

The  Pearl  turned  her  vague  gaze  from  the  distant 
peaks,  with  the  last  red  glow  of  the  sun  on  their  shining 
summits,  and  became  suddenly  alive  to  the  mundane. 
"  Oh,  that ! "  She  ran  her  fingers  across  her  brow  and 
laughed.  Her  slightly  crooked  mouth  broke  into  dim 
ples  and  there  was  a  cool  deviltry  in  the  sidelong 
glance  she  threw  at  the  gipsy.  "  Why,  Shock  give  me 
that  three  or  four  days  ago.  I  can't  go  to  the  festival 
to-night  unless  I  can  get  it  powdered  up  good  enough 
to  cover  it." 

The  mountain  woman  surveyed  her  a  moment  in  tol 
erant,  dispassionate  curiosity.  "  Why  can't  you  leave 
the  boys  alone,  Pearl? "  she  asked  finally.  "  They 
ain't  none  of  'em  here  nor  anywheres  else  that's  worth 
standin'  a  lickin'  for." 

"  You  bet,"  agreed  Mrs.  O'Brien  indifferently,  but 
with  perfect  acquiescence.  "  But,  say,  Nitschkan,  I 
wasn't  doin'  a  thing — just  standin'  at  the  gate,  talkin' 
to  a — a — fellow  when  Shock  come  down  the  road. 
Well,  I  wisht  you'd  'a'  seen  him ! "  the  reminiscent  co 
quetry  of  her  smile  brightening  her  weary  eyes.  "  That 
French-Irish  face  of  his'n  was  blacker  'n  a  thunder 
cloud  an'  his  eyes  was  a-blazin'  fire.  We  had  it  hot  an' 

181 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

heavy  about  all  night.  Shock,  you  know  him ;  he  can't 
bear  to  see  another  man  so  much  as  look  at  me." 

"  Then  what  you  always  a-teasin'  him  for,  Pearl  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Nitschkan  with  indubitable  reason  and 
practicality. 

"  I  do'  know,"  with  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 
"  I  always  been  used  to  the  boys.  They  know  an'  I 
know  that  I  wouldn't  look  at  one  of  'em  now;  but 
Shock,  the  big  fool,  he  don't  know  nothin',  an'  Lord! 
but  he's  jealous." 

"  Jealous  !  Catsfoot !  "  replied  Mrs.  Nitschkan  with 
sturdy  scorn.  "  I'd  like  to  see  any  man  kick  an'  cuff 
me  about  as  he  pleases ;  that's  what  I'd  like  to  see,  an' 
you  always  yellin'  about  bein'  free ! " 

There  were  tiny  flickers  of  fire  in  Mrs.  O'Brien's  eyes. 
The  slow,  heavy  crimson  crept  up  under  her  dark  skin 
and  her  thin,  curving  mouth  became  pointed  and  ani 
mal.  The  upper  lip  curled  slightly  on  either  side  and 
showed  two  white  pointed  teeth  like  a  wolf's. 

"  You  think  you're  smart,  don't  you,  Sadie  Nitsch 
kan  ?  "  in  a  coarse,  muffled  scream ;  "  you  think  you 
know  a  thing  or  two.  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  once  an'  fer 
all,  you  don't.  You  think  I'd  stay  with  any  man  I 
didn't  want  to?  Why,  all  hell  couldn't  hold  me.  You 
ask  any  of  the  boys  down  in  the  desert.  They'd  laugh 
in  your  face.  They  know  I'd  knife  him  without  count- 
in'  one,  two,  three.  Oh,  you — you — tramp  woman !  You 
know  a  lot  about  huntin'  an'  fishin' ;  but  you  know  a 
mighty  little  about  women.  You  ain't  never  been  one." 

"  Now,  Pearl,  there  ain't  no  occasion  to  spit  like  a 
182 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

t 

cat,"  returned  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  unmoved  by  these 
taunts.  "  An'  if  you  give  me  much  more  sass,  I'll  jerk 
you  over  the  fence  and  throw  you  out  in  the  road.  Oh !  " 
with  a  scornful  laugh,  "  I  ain't  a  mite  af eared  of  that 
knife  they  say  you  always  keep  down  in  your  stockin'." 

But  Mrs.  O'Brien's  tempest  of  anger  had  fallen  to 
calm  as  quickly  as  it  had  flamed.  Without  further  notice 
of  her  companion,  she  dropped  her  face  into  the  cup 
of  her  hands  and  again  gazed  idly  out  at  the  rapidly 
blurring  outlines  of  the  hills. 

"  Bob  Flick's  here,"  advanced  Mrs.  Nitschkan  in  a 
casual  and  friendly  tone,  "  but  'course  you  know.  He's 
a-stayin'  at  our  house.  He's  a-goin'  to  deal  faro  bank 
here  for  a  while.  He  was  a-talkin'  last  night  to  Jack 
an'  me,  an'  he  jus'  couldn't  get  over  you  bein'  here  this 
away.  *  Lord ! '  he  says,  over  an'  over  again.  '  It  do 
beat  everything  to  see  the  Pearl  livin'  up  here  so  plain. 
Why,'  he  says,  '  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she's  even  forgot 
how  to  cross  her  feet — her  that's  danced  in  every  town 
in  the  Southwest.' ' 

Pearl  laughed.  "  I  guess  I  ain't  forgot,"  lazily. 
Then  her  whole  appearance  changed;  the  listlessness 
vanished  from  her  face.  "  Here  comes  Shock ! "  she 
said. 

"  Oh,"  murmured  Mrs.  Nitschkan  with  a  hurried 
glance  at  O'Brien,  who  hastened  down  the  mountain 
road,  his  dinner  pail  over  his  arm. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  Pearl  in  a  rapid  whisper. 
"  I  want  to  see  Bob  Flick.  You  tell  him  to  be  at  the 
raspberry  social  to-night." 

183 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Appalled  by  her  daring,  Mrs.  Nitschkan  glanced 
apprehensively  at  O'Brien,  almost  at  her  elbow,  and  then 
hurried  on ;  but  after  a  few  paces,  she  turned,  like  Lot's 
wife,  to  look  back. 

The  Black  Pearl,  her  arm  through  her  husband's,  was 
sauntering  up  the  narrow  path  which  led  from  the  gate 
to  the  cottage.  It  was  only  when  she  walked  that  she 
showed  to  the  full,  her  exquisite  and  undulating  grace. 

"  I  jus'  been  waterin'  the  flowers,  Shock,  while  I  was 
waitin'  for  you,"  her  lazy,  colourless  voice  was  full  of 
animation.  "  Don't  they  look  great?  "  She  stooped,  and 
breaking  off  a  scarlet  geranium,  thrust  it  into  her 
hair. 

"  It  jus'  seems  like  I  can't  get  enough  reds  an'  yel 
lows,"  complained  Mrs.  O'Brien.  "  But  I  tell  you  what, 
Shock,  this  garden  rests  my  eyes  a  whole  lot  after  look- 
in'  out  at  those  old  mountains  with  snow  on  their  tops. 
Ugh !  "  she  shivered. 

Jacques  laughed.  "  What  else  you  been  doin',  Pearl, 
besides  waterin'  the  garden  ?  " 

"  I  finished  my  dress  to  wear  to  the  raspberry  social 
to-night."  She  stepped  back  from  him  that  he  might 
the  better  observe  her  handiwork.  She  had  fashioned 
some  cheap,  pink  material  so  that  it  fell  as  soft  as 
crepe  into  wonderful  long  lines  about  her  slender  height. 
"  Do  you  like  it,  Shock  ?  "  She  tilted  her  head  sideways 
and  looked  at  him  with  her  crooked,  heart-shattering 
smile. 

"  Yes."  He  caught  her  hand  and  drew  her  toward 
him.  "  Air  you  glad  to  see  me,  Pearl?  " 

184 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

"  Air  I  glad  to  see  you  ?  Air  I  glad  to  see  you  ?  No. 
Understand  once  an'  fer  all,  No." 

They  laughed,  and  he  pulled  her  sunburned  head  to 
his  breast  and  kissed  the  faint  purple  bruise  on  her 
brow. 

"  Crazy !  "  She  still  laughed  and  dragged  at  his  hand. 
"  Come  on  in  and  eat  your  supper." 

"  Crazy's  the  word,"  philosophised  Mrs.  Nitschkan, 
shaking  her  head  as  she  walked  on.  "  Seems  to  me  the 
Pearl's  possessed.  She  sure  acts  like  she's  wild  about 
Shock,  an'  yet,  she's  sendin'  word  to  Bob  Flick  to  meet 
her  this  evenin'  at  the  festival.  That's  what  comes  of 
bein'  a  hussy.  But  Lord !  I  got  to  hurry,  for  I  wouldn't 
miss  that  social  to-night  for  all  that's  goin'." 

She  but  voiced  the  universal  sentiment  of  the  village. 
Already  "  supper  things  "  were  being  hastily  cleared 
away,  and  blinds  were  drawn  that  no  delay  might  be 
caused  by  the  ceremony  of  dressing. 

With  that  sixth  sense  common  in  isolated  communi 
ties,  where  the  interest  in  the  drama  before  one's  eyes  is 
intense  and  absorbing,  because  at  any  moment  the  spec 
tator  may  be  called  from  the  seclusion  of  the  audience 
to  take  his  place  among  the  actors  before  the  footlights, 
the  participators  in  the  raspberry  festival  were  all  in 
tuitively  aware  that  the  immanent,  psychological  mo 
ment  was  at  hand.  There  was  no  question  of  mistake 
or  of  postponement.  The  hour  had  struck. 

Frances  felt  it  and  was  vaguely  troubled  and  per 
plexed.  She  realised  with  a  feeling  of  depression  that, 
so  far  as  one  might  judge,  the  seed  she  had  sown  had 

185 


fallen  among  the  rocks,  for  Myrtle  was  more  audacious 
than  ever  in  her  skirmishes  with  the  enemy.  The  subtle 
intimation  communicated  itself  to  Mrs.  Evans  and  "  her 
click,"  and  for  once,  that  close  and  assured  corporation 
was  slightly  irresolute. 

"  I  know,"  muttered  Mrs.  Evans,  as  she  and  Mrs. 
Thomas  wended  their  way  toward  the  Town  Hall,  the 
scene  of  the  festivity,  "  that  this  '11  be  the  last  time  I 
wear  myself  to  skin  an'  bone  to  get  any  girl  married. 
I  ask  you,  Mis'  Thomas,  if  Susie  Hazen  has  ever  said 
more  than  *  Yes,  sir,'  and  '  No,  sir,'  to  Preacher,  an'  if 
she  ain't  et  like  a  wolf  at  every  tea  party  we've  give 
'em?  Now  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  no  girl 's  goin' 
to  get  house  an'  home,  husband  an'  children,  actin'  that 
way.  I  will  say  for  Myrtle  that  she  certainly  is  enter- 
prisin'." 

"  How  true  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Thomas,  "  that  God  helps 
those  that  helps  theirselves.  Well,  here  we  are  at  the 
door." 

The  Town  Hall  was  alight  with  a  dozen  lamps  in 
brackets  on  the  walls ;  the  main  part  of  the  floor  had 
been  cleared  for  dancing,  and  polished  until  it  shone; 
while  at  the  lower  end  were  placed  long  tables  where 
raspberries  and  ice  cream  were  served  by  the  members 
of  the  Aid  Society. 

Interest  was  naturally  centred  in  Myrtle  and  the 
"  lunger  preacher,"  as  it  was  understood  that  Frank 
McGuire  could  not  get  down  from  the  mine  until  after 
nine  o'clock.  Carrothers,  placid  and  even  gay  in  a  bleat 
ing  and  lamb-like  manner,  was  probably  the  only  person 

186 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

present  who  was  not  enjoying  the  tense  expectancy  of 
a  dramatic  denouement.  He,  one  of  the  chief  actors 
before  the  curtain,  was  in  the  paradoxical  position 
of  not  knowing  that  he  had  assumed  a  leading 
role. 

Curiosity  was  somewhat  deflected  by  the  appearance 
of  the  Black  Pearl,  who  was  presumably  successful  in 
powdering  her  bruise;  but  who  arrived  rather  late,  and 
greatly  disappointed  Zenith  by  refusing  all  invitations 
to  dance.  Bob  Flick,  too,'  had  sauntered  in  a  few  mo 
ments  afterwards,  so  if  the  principal  performance  in 
the  large  tent  was  somewhat  delayed,  there  were  not 
lacking  side  shows  to  keep  up  the  interest  of  the 
spectators. 

Flick  was  a  tall,  slow-moving  fellow,  with  the  pale  im 
passive  face  of  the  professional  gambler.  There  were 
tense  lines  about  his  mouth,  and  the  deep  crows'  feet 
about  his  eyes  betokened  that  he  had  long  lived  in  the 
lands  of  vivid  sunlight.  For  a  few  moments  he  stood 
leaning  against  the  door,  exchanging  a  curt  word  now 
and  again  with  an  acquaintance ;  but  for  the  most  part 
gazing  with  cold,  narrowed  eyes  at  Mrs.  O'Brien,  who 
sat,  lazy  and  indifferent,  with  a  faint  smile  on  her 
scornful  mouth,  while  about  her  chair  eddied  a  boister 
ous  court,  which,  however  it  might  vary  as  to  individ 
uals,  never  diminished  in  size. 

As  far  as  one  might  judge,  she  made  no  especial  effort 
to  attract,  when  she  spoke  at  all  it  was  in  monosyllables, 
though  occasionally  she  interjected  a  brief  word  into 
the  general  conversation ;  but  in  the  main  she  sat  silent, 

187 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

listless ;  inherently,  perhaps  unconsciously,  man-compell 
ing. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  Flick  finally  moved  across 
the  room  and  took  his  stand  doggedly  and  immovably 
beside  her  chair,  that  she  showed  any  signs  of  anima 
tion,  although  she  still  persisted  in  refusing  his,  as  well 
as  all  other  invitations  to  dance. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  dance,"  her  soft,  sliding  voice 
held  the  note  of  decision.  "  Come  on,  Bob,  sit  down  here 
beside  me  an'  tell  me  the  news.  How's  Jim  Hurd ;  an* 
was  it  true  he  got  shot  over  the  cards?  An*  Frank 
Applewaite?  Did  he,  honest,  run  off  with  a  Greaser  girl, 
like  one  of  the  boys  told  me?  Oh,  I'm  hungry  for  the 
news.  Have  they," — with  a  wistful  coquetry — "  have 
they  plumb  forgot  me  yet,  Bob  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  not," — with  emphasis.  "  But  it  does 
seem  funny  to  see  you  like  this,  Pearl,  with  jus'  that 
plain,  gold  ring  on  your  finger.  Why,  I  was  a-talkin' 
to  a  jeweller  down  in  Tucson  the  other  day  an'  he  says: 
*  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  the  Black  Pearl's  necklace? 
She's  got  the  finest  matched  string  of  emeralds  I  ever 
see.' " 

"  Well,  he'll  never  get  'em,"  with  smiling,  indifferent 
finality. 

"What  did  you  do  with  'em,  Pearl?"  asked  Flick, 
curiously.  "  Sell  'em  ?  " 

"Sell  'em?  No.  I  give  'em  to  Father  Gonzales,  the 
night  before  he  married  Shock  an'  me.  I  guess  he's 
hung  'em  around  the  neck  of  the  Virgin,  or  maybe  he's 
keepin'  the  poor  in  luxury  on  'em  yet.  Lord !  Can't  you 

188 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

hear  those  old  Mission  bells,  kind  o'  cracked  and  sweet 
an'  Tar  away?  They  always  sounded  like  Time  and  Eter 
nity  to  me.  Oh,  Bob,  there  ain't  nothin'  like  the  desert,  is 
there?  I  can't  get  used  to  havin'  the  mountains  so  close. 
I  feel  all  the  time  like  they  was  a-crowdin'  an'  a-pushin' 
me.  I  want  to  be  where  I  can  breathe." 

The  gambler  laughed  outright.  "  Well,  you  ain't  so 
changed,  after  all,"  he  said,  and  some  new  almost  exul 
tant  note  rang  in  his  voice.  "  Same  old  cry.  Jim  Hurd 
was  a-speakin'  to  me,  only  a  little  while  back,  of  the 
old  days,  an'  he  says :  '  Can't  you  see  the  Pearl  a  fling- 
in'  up  her  arms  an'  sayin' :  "  I  want  to  be  free  "  ?  I 
wonder  what  ailed  that  girl  ?  '  he  said.  '  She  was  always 
a-goin'  on  about  wantin'  to  be  free.  Why  how,'  he  says, 
*  could  anyone  be  freer  'an  her?  When  she  got  tired  of 
one  place,  she  was  off  to  the  next.  Her  pockets  was  al 
ways  full  of  money,  an'  her  fingers  blazin'  with  coloured 
stones.  If  that  ain't  bein'  free,'  he  said,  '  I'd  like  to 
know  what  is.' ' 

"  Those  rings  wasn't  half  so  pretty  nor  so  bright  as 
the  beetles  that  crawled  out  in  the  sand  when  you  turned 
over  a  stone."  The  veil  of  moodiness  had  again  fallen 
over  her  eyes. 

"  I  kin  just  smell  trouble  in  the  air,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Thomas  at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall,  pausing  in  her 
occupation  of  serving  raspberries  into  small  saucers, 
with  a  very  large  iron  spoon.  "  Myrtle  cavortin',  an' 
the  Pearl  carryin'  on  with  Bob  Flick!  You  see  if  they 
ain't  some  shots  passed  before  we  get  home.  An'  ain't 
it  a  high  note  for  the  Pearl  not  to  dance.  That's  always 

189 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

the  way  with  them  perfessionals ;  they're  so  contrary 
that  they  take  pleasure  in  puttin'  their  lights  under 
bushels  just  to  spite  folks.  My!  "  as  Myrtle  floated  by 
her,  "  ain't  that  girl  wild  to-night !  Well,"  sighing 
heavily,  "  she'll  be  gnashin'  her  teeth  before  mornin'. 
That's  sure." 

In  truth,  Myrtle  was  dancing  indefatigably,  the  gay 
est  of  the  gay,  when  Frances  laid  a  detaining  hand  on 
her  arm.  "  Myrtle,"  she  begged,  "  put  a  stop  to  all  this 
nonsense  and  talk  to-night.  Decide  one  way  or  another ; 
Frank  will  soon  be  here  now." 

Myrtle's  soft  little  face  had  grown  hard,  and  her  eyes 
glittered.  There  was  a  worried  line  or  so  about  her 
mouth.  "  I  can't  help  it,"  she  cried.  "  I  can't  stand  it 
to  have  Mis'  Evans  crowin'  over  me  to  the  end  of  my 
days,  an'  sayin'  I  took  Frank  'cause  I  couldn't  get 
Preacher.  Look  at  her  now,  grinnin'  'cause  Preacher 
an  Susie's  talkin'  together.  She's  a-drivin'  me  to  it, 
Missioner.  She's  a-drivin'  me  sure  to  take  him." 

"  But  you  told  me  he  did  not  care  for  you,"  ex 
claimed  Frances,  in  a  tone  at  once  impatient  and 
bewildered. 

"  They  ain't  none  of  them  so  hard  to  get,"  said  the 
girl  with  moody  scorn.  "  I  ain't  fished  for  trout  all  my 
life  in  these  mountains  an'  not  know  how  to  ketch  a 
man." 

A  partner  claimed  her,  and  she  danced  away,  her 
white  dress  fluttering  through  the  moving  figures  about 
the  hall.  When  she  came  to  a  stop  at  last,  it  was  in  the 
centre  of  a  laughing,  gasping  group. 

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CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

But  suddenly  their  laughter,  which  had  been  ring 
ing1  to  the  ceiling,  faltered  and  died,  silenced  by  a 
whisper  which  had  run  like  lightning  through  the  room. 
There  was  a  moment's  commotion.  Men  consulted 
briefly  and  started  toward  the  door,  while  women  hastily 
gathered  up  babies. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Frances  of  a  man  who  passed 
her. 

"  Something  wrong  at  The  Gold  Dirt.  Three  of  the 
boys  ain't  come  down." 

Myrtle  clutched  her  arm.  "  Frank ! "  she  gasped. 
"  He's  workin'  in  The  Gold  Dirt,  an'  if  it  wasn't  him, 
he'd  been  here  before.  Come  on !  "  And  pulling  the  Mis 
sionary  strongly  by  the  hand,  she  ran  with  her  down  the 
steps  leading  to  the  road. 

Undisturbed  by  the  confusion  about  her,  Mrs.  Evans 
stood  by  the  deserted  tables,  calmly  issuing  orders. 
"  You  fetch  all  the  ground  coffee,  Nitschkan.  We'll 
need  it  up  there.  I'll  take  a  basket  of  cups,  an'  you 
carry  the  pots,  Mis'  Thomas.  Mis'  Landvetter,  gather 
up  all  the  shawls  that's  left,  an'  don't  forget  to  bring 
the  matches.  Let  the  kids  stay  here  an'  eat  up  the  cream 
an'  berries,  no  use  wastin'  'em.  Now  you  all  ready? 
Then  we'll  start." 

The  wagon  road  up  the  mountain  was  black  with 
people.  Men  with  picks  and  lanterns  in  their  hands,  and 
women  whose  faces  showed  white  under  the  shawls  they 
had  hastily  thrown  over  their  heads. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  again  asked  Frances  of  a  man  they 
met  hurrying  down  the  road. 

191 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

"  An  explosion  in  The  Gold  Dirt,"  he  answered. 
"  Three  of  the  boys  was  down  on  the  fifth  level  to  do 
some  blastin'.  They  signalled  for  the  cage  and  the  en 
gineer  sent  it  down;  but  they  never  signalled  for  it  to 
be  lifted.  I  guess  they  waited  too  long  after  they 
touched  off  their  fuses." 

"  Who  were  they  ?  "  cried  Myrtle. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  time  to  talk,"  he  called  back  over  his 
shoulder.  "  I'm  a-goin'  for  a  doctor." 

"  Oh,"  wailed  the  girl,  her  fingers  sinking  painfully 
deep  in  the  Missionary's  arm;  but  after  that  outcry, 
she  made  no  further  demonstration.  She  was  a  daughter 
of  the  mountains  and  knew  that  no  breath  must  be 
wasted  in  lamentations.  There  was  a  long  climb  before 
them. 

Once  the  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  them  caused  her  to 
shiver  convulsively. 

"  I  wonder  who  it  is  ?  "  said  Frances,  as  a  man  on 
horseback  pushed  through  the  crowd  on  foot,  and  on 
up  the  slope. 

"  The  surgeon,"  replied  Myrtle,  in  a  dull,  muffled 
voice. 

When  at  last  they  reached  the  mine,  it  was  a  weird 
and  striking  scene  which  met  their  eyes,  solemn,  vivid, 
almost  awe-inspiring.  The  first  arrivals  with  a  prac 
ticality  acquired  in  a  life  spent  in  battling  with  neces 
sity,  had  built  great,  flaring  bonfires  of  pitchpine  logs. 
The  red  flames  with  their  dense  clouds  of  pitchy  smoke 
leaped  up  against  a  background  of  violet-black  moun 
tains  with  the  snow-covered  peaks,  and  illuminated  the 

192 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

bare  wooden  engine  house  and  the  huge,  slate-coloured 
ore  dumps. 

Myrtle  stood  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  tense,  waiting. 
All  her  soft,  peachy  prettiness  had  vanished,  showing  a 
facial  outline  hard  and  stern.  As  Mrs.  Evans  panted 
up  beside  her,  the  girl  caught  that  tiny  woman  by  the 
arms,  pinioning  them  to  her  sides,  and  lifted  her  off  her 
feet. 

In  an  instant  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  man's  coat  sleeve  was 
rolled  up  and  her  bare  great-muscled  arm  shot  out  its 
clenched  fist  in  Myrtle's  face. 

"  Don't  you  hurt  her,  Myrtle,"  she  warned.  "  If  you 
do,  I'll  break  your  jaw  as  sure  as  I'm  a-standin'  here." 

"  What  do  I  care?  "  said  Myrtle.  "  But  I'll  tell  you 
this;  this  is  a  judgment  on  me  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  be 
punished  alone,  when  there's  others  deserves  it  too.  Her 
man's  one  of  the  best  miners  in  the  camp,  an'  he's  got  to 
go  down  an'  bring  out  mine." 

Mrs.  Evans,  completely  in  the  power  of  the  younger 
and  larger  woman,  had  merely  cocked  her  head  and 
gazed  at  her  with  cool  defiance ;  but  now  her  expression 
changed.  In  the  world,  so  in  Zenith.  The  eternal 
feminine  knows  modification,  but  no  change.  There  had 
been  warfare  between  herself  and  Myrtle ;  but  at  the 
first  hint  of  trouble,  the  hatchet  was  buried,  the  minis 
trations  began. 

"  You  bet  he'll  go  down,  Myrtle,  an'  in  the  first 
cage.  Put  me  down  on  the  ground  an'  I'll  see  to  it." 

In  the  interval  of  waiting  the  women  busied  them 
selves  in  making  coffee  for  the  miners,  and  the  always 

193 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

increasing  crowd  lingered  breathlessly,  and  for  the  most 
part,  silently.  Myrtle  had  thrown  herself  on  the  ground 
and  lay  with  her  head  in  the  Missionary's  lap.  Once  Car- 
rothers  approached  her  and  with  a  few  words  attempted 
to  console  and  hearten  her;  but  she  threw  out  her 
hand  with  the  impatient  gesture  of  one  waving  away 
a  fly. 

"  Aw,  shut  up ! "  she  muttered.  "  I'd  rather  hear 
Mis'  Nitschkan  swear." 

"  Gosh  a'mighty,  child !  "  said  that  bluff  King  Hal 
in  petticoats,  "  you  mustn't  take  on  this  way.  You  got 
to  get  used  to  this.  We've  all  seen  our  men  brung  out 
bloody  an'  smashed,  times  without  number,  ain't  we,  Mis' 
Evans?" 

"  Every  bone  in  Sile's  body's  been  broke  in  these 
blasted  mines,"  returned  that  lady  laconically.  "Lift 
up  your  head,  Myrtie,  an'  drink  this  nice  hot  coffee." 

"  Yes,  take  the  blessed  comfort  of  it,"  coaxed  Mrs. 
Thomas.  "  My  patience !  Ain't  it  somethin'  beautiful 
the  way  we  take  on  when  accidents  happen  to  them,  an' 
what  do  they  do  fer  us  in  pain  or  grief?  I've  seen  a 
man  sit  with  his  feet  up  on  the  kitchen  stove  readin'  a 
newspaper  an'  never  turnin'  a  hair,  while  his  wife  was 
screamin'  herself  black  in  the  face  with  the  strikes  in 
the  next  room.  Cheer  up,  Myrtie!  They  ain't  no  man 
worth  it."  ' 

"Frank  is,"  sobbed  Myrtle.  "I  don't  care  if  the 
rest  is  blown  to  pieces;  one  of  'em's  a  drunken  Polack, 
an'  the  other's  the  dead-broke  son  of  an  English  lord, 
an'  it  don't  make  no  difference  about  them." 

194 


CHAPTER     FOURTEEN 

This  exposition  of  an  essentially  feminine  point  of 
view  occasioned  no  surprise  among  her  sympathisers. 

"  That's  the  way  we  all  feel  when  it  comes  to  our 
man,  no  matter  how  cranky  he  may  be ;  or  our  kids,  no 
matter  how  devilish  they  are,"  murmured  Mrs.  Thomas, 
who  took  an  artistic  delight  in  her  ability  to  mourn  thor 
oughly  and  completely  with  those  who  mourn. 

The  slow,  dragging  watches  of  the  night  wore  pain 
fully  away ;  and  at  last,  after  hours  of  waiting,  it  was 
announced  that  the  miners  had  dug  through  the  debris. 
Finally,  one  man,  the  drunken  Polack,  was  borne  out 
unconscious,  injured;  the  surgeon  worked  over  him. 
Then  another,  "  the  dead-broke  son  of  an  English 
lord  " ;  and  at  last,  exhausted,  almost  asphyxiated,  his 
arm  hanging  helpless,  Frank  McGuire. 

Like  a  flash,  Myrtle  burst  through  the  crowd  and 
threw  her  arms  about  him  before  their  world.  The 
smile  she  lifted  to  his  dazed  and  doubting  glance  was 
full  of  rapture  and  relief,  of  a  thousand  capitulations 
and  promises,  and  it  fell  like  sunshine  upon  him,  melting 
the  winter  of  his  discontent. 

"  Myrtle,"  he  murmured.  "  Myrtle,  are  you  sure?  " 

"  Sure ! "  she  cried  in  a  burst  of  sobs.  "  I  always 
been  sure ;  but  I  was  born  so  devilish  that  I  never  could 
take  a  dare." 

Dawn  was  just  breaking  over  the  mountains  when  a 
little  cavalcade  wound  down  the  hill.  McGuire  on  a 
dusty,  grey  burro,  was  supported  by  Carrothers  on  one 
side,  and  by  Myrtle  on  the  other.  They  were  environed 
by  Mrs.  Evans,  Mrs.  Thomas,  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  Mrs. 

195 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Landvetter  and  the  "  Missioner,"  bearing  shawls,  coffee 
utensils  and  baskets.  In  the  reaction  from  the  suspense 
and  anxiety  of  the  night,  these  ladies  had  become 
jocular,  almost  to  hilarity,  and  the  conversation  fre 
quently  verged  on  that  form  of  banter  known  as  rude. 

"  Preacher  and  Missioner  had  better  be  gettin'  ready 
to  officiate  at  a  weddin'  soon,  hadn't  they,  Frank?  " 
called  Mrs.  Nitschkan  jovially. 

"  Maybe  Preacher  '11  be  thinkin'  of  a  weddin'  on  his 
own  hook."  Myrtle's  glance  was  still  inherently 
coquettish.  "  Maybe  that  girl  back  in  Illinois " 

Carrothers  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  "  She 
writes  she  thinks  she'll  like  it  here."  Then  he  took  his 
courage  in  both  hands :  "  It's — it's — to  be  at  Christ 
mas." 

Of  the  disconcerted  little  group  behind  the  burro, 
now  huddling  together  and  gazing  at  each  other  with 
round  eyes,  Mrs.  Thomas  alone  retained  her  poise. 

"  Ain't  they  the  critters  for  you ! "  she  exclaimed, 
gazing  admiringly  at  Carrothers's  back.  "  They's  two 
games  they  can  sure  beat  us  at — poker  and  love.  Here 
were  Myrtle  an'  Mis'  Evans  raisin'  each  other  to  the 
limit,  an'  Preacher  had  'em  cold  decked  from  the  start." 


196 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

/vUGUST  the  Spinner,  robed  in  floating,  purple  hazes, 
her  distaff  wound  with  silver  cobwebs,  had  journeyed 
up  the  mountain  sides  to  meet  her  sister,  September,  on 
the  summits — September,  the  painter,  with  her  crown 
of  scarlet  and  gold  leaves  and  her  palette  set  with  bril 
liant  colours. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  new  queen's  reign  Frances 
had  gone  alone  to  Garvin's  library,  and  now  stood  in 
the  handsome,  spacious,  rather  austere  room,  aimlessly 
drawing  books  from  the  shelves,  turning  the  pages, 
scanning  them  with  unseeing  eyes  and  putting  them 
back  again.  For  the  last  week  she  had  suffered  a  feel 
ing  of  depression,  slight  at  first,  but  deepening  day  by 
day,  until  it  became  an  obsessing  unrest  and  longing 
for  which  she  could  find  no  name ;  but  which  "  kindled 
by  night  and  subdued  her  "  until,  this  first  day  of  Sep 
tember,  she  felt  disconsolate,  almost  to  tears. 

Ever  since  the  day  when  she  had  started  to  follow 
Ethel  and  old  Andrew  Campbell  up  the  road,  she  had 
known  this  reaction  of  feeling,  and  she  was  peculiarly 
unable  to  cope  with  it,  inasmuch  as  she  had  never  been 
a  woman  of  moods.  Her  poise  was  the  habit  of  years, 
won  by  the  choice  of  an  occupation  which  imposed  on 
her  a  constant  self-control.  So  long  had  she  invited 
others  to  come  and  lean  on  her  that  their  weakness, 

197 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

drawing  on  her  strength,  had  so  augmented  her  calm 
security  of  self  that  she  entirely  forgot  the  tiger  of 
temperament  chained  in  the  deeps  of  her  nature.  But 
now  it  lifted  its  head  and  stirred  in  sleep. 

We  speak  always  in  extremes — pain,  pleasure;  light, 
darkness;  joy,  sorrow.  These  are  stimulants  and 
goads.  When  pain  grips  us  we  rise  to  the  conflict  and 
struggle  to  find  relief.  We  spring  to  welcome  joy;  but 
there  is  a  state  of  feeling,  or  more  fitly,  a  lack  of  feeling 
where  both  pain  and  pleasure  are  lost  from  our  con 
sciousness.  Perhaps  without  warning  or  premonition, 
the  dish  of  life  is  suddenly  without  salt  or  savour;  the 
vibrating  light  and  colour  of  the  universe  is  washed  out 
to  one  grey,  colourless  monotone,  the  dull  day  merges 
into  a  black,  stifling  night  without  a  star,  without  one 
breeze  of  freshness. 

When  we  suffer,  we  strive  to  find  words  to  express 
our  anguish.  "  I  am  a  companion  to  owls  and  a  brother 
to  dragons  " ;  but  the  groper  in  the  grey  world  mutters 
with  Job :  "  A  land  of  darkness  as  darkness  itself,  and 
of  the  shadow  of  death,  without  any  order,  and  where 
the  light  is  as  darkness." 

The  days  of  the  outer  world  were  still  as  gold  and 
purple  as  those  in  which  Frances  had  rejoiced;  but  she 
could  no  longer  enter  the  heart  of  their  splendour  and 
warm  her  hands  at  the  inner  glow.  The  bloom  was  off 
the  summer ;  no  longer  the  maternal  arms  of  her  mother, 
Earth,  enfolded  her.  In  her  effort  to  throw  off  this 
deadening  apathy,  she  would  read  and  reread  the  books 
she  had  loved;  but  they  were  without  meaning;  or  she 

198 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

would  walk  miles  in  her  futile  attempts  to  recapture  the 
mood  of  yesterday,  to  feel  again  her  nearness  to  Nature 
and  rid  hercelf  of  this  body  of  death — the  sense  of  isola 
tion  from  all  natural  sights  and  sounds. 

But  even  in  the  pine  forests,  those  leagues  of  scented 
gloom,  where  whispers  and  intimations  of  unfathomable 
mysteries  had  reached  her,  she  knew  no  mitigation  of 
her  weary  ennui.  Sometimes  the  wind  in  the  pine  tops 
was  like  the  distant  booming  of  cathedral  bells,  and 
again  like  the  solemn  surges  of  the  sea ;  but  it  could  not 
call  back  her  spirit  from  the  wastes  of  desolation.  She 
was  numb  almost  to  deadness. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  she  stood  in  the  library,  idly 
fingering  the  books,  and  remaining  entirely  uninterested 
in  their  contents.  There  is  repose  and  serenity  in  the 
very  atmosphere  of  a  library ;  but  Frances  was  too  half 
hearted  and  recent  a  student  to  accept  that  balm,  that 
divine  solace  with  which  great  books  heal  their  lovers. 
A  feeling  of  profound  loneliness  swept  over  her.  What 
was  the  matter?  she  asked  herself.  Why,  why,  had  this 
wonderful  revelation  come  to  her  in  these  mountains, 
this  lifting  of  the  veil  which  showed  to  her  eager  vision 
her  new  worlds  and  worlds?  And  then,  just  as  she  had 
begun  to  live  in  their  courts  and  palaces,  the  curtain 
had  fallen  and  she  was  thrust  into  the  isolation  of  the 
"  world  without  any  order." 

A  wave  of  self-pity  foreign  to  her  nature  broke  over 
her,  and  the  unusual  tears  smarted  in  her  eyes.  She 
dropped  her  face  in  her  hands  and  then  lifted  it  quickly 
as  the  handle  of  the  door  turned,  the  curtain  was  thrust 

199 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

aside  and  Garvin  stood  on  the  threshold.  Frances's 
heart  gave  one  quick  throb,  and  although  she  stood  per 
fectly  still,  she  began  to  tremble  violently  from  head  to 
foot,  gazing  straight  at  him  with  wide,  doubting  eyes, 
in  the  depths  of  which  a  light  slowly  dawned. 

He  remained  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway  peering 
into  the  room,  and  evidently  accustoming  his  eyes  to  the 
somewhat  shadowy  light.  "  Ah ! "  He  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  satisfaction.  "  They  told  me  you  were  here, 
but  I  couldn't  see  you  at  first.  It  seems  too  good  to  be 
true." 

"I— I—"  she  faltered,  "didn't  expect  you,"  still 
gazing  at  him  half -unbelievingly. 

"  Didn't  you  ?  "  He  had  walked  down  the  room  to 
ward  her,  and  now  he  gently  and  still  smilingly  took 
from  her  the  book  which  she  had  involuntarily  clasped 
against  her  breast ;  the  hands  he  thus  released  he  caught 
tightly  and  warmly  in  his. 

"  I'm  so  glad !  "  he  said  deeply.  "  Missioner,  do  you 
know  how  glad?  I've  dreamed  of  finding  you  here,  but 
I  never  thought  I  really  would.  Why,  do  you  know,  I 
was  so  childishly  anxious  that  you  should  be  the  first 
person  I  should  speak  to,  that  I  pretended  not  to  see 
the  boys  as  I  drove  up  from  the  station." 

In  spite  of  her  flushing  confusion,  Frances  could  not 
fail  to  notice  a  great  change  in  him.  He  was  a  differ 
ent  man  from  the  Garvin  of  the  lagging  step  and  the 
perplexed  eyes  she  had  previously  known.  This  Garvin 
was  younger;  the  old  dejection  and  weariness  had  van 
ished,  the  stoop  had  gone  from  his  shoulders,  the  fur- 

200 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

rows  from  his  brow.  The  sad  lines  about  his  mouth  were 
effaced. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  he  said,  speaking  again,  "  that  you 
have  made  use  of  my  books.  Have  you  enjoyed 
them?" 

"Enjoyed  them!"  He  did  not  appear  to  remember 
that  he  still  held  her  hands,  and  now  she  drew  them 
away,  catching  at  the  topic  he  suggested,  to  cover  her 
embarrassment.  "  Your  books  have  opened  a  new  world 
to  me."  She  spoke  eagerly,  happily,  entirely  forgetful 
of  the  fact  that  a  few  moments  before  she  had  been  a 
companionless  wanderer  in  the  grey  world.  "  Suppose 
you  had  suddenly  found  a  new  star,  full  of  all  the  most 
wonderful  things  you  had  ever  dreamed  of." 

"  So  through  my  books  a  new  planet  has  swum  into 
your  ken  ?  "  he  murmured,  plainly  delighted ;  but  as  he 
continued  to  gaze  at  her,  he  quickly  forgot  her  words. 
There  was  no  one  in  all  the  world  like  her.  She  was  the 
most  individual  creature  he  had  ever  known.  He  liked 
the  severe  straight  lines  of  that  nun-like  black  gown, 
the  stiff  white  collar,  and  the  white  cuffs  turned  back 
over  the  sleeves.  He  liked  that  shining  blue-black  hair 
brushed  smoothly  back  from  her  brow,  and  the  great 
plaits  wound  around  the  back  of  her  head.  He  liked 
best  of  all  that  almost  ascetic  reserve  of  expression  in 
a  face  which  could  sparkle  and  break  and  quiver  and 
grow  vivid  with  feeling.  He  could  fancy  the  glow  of 
carnation  on  that  smooth,  pale  cheek — there  was  a  catch 
at  his  heart  at  the  thought. 

And  if  she  had  noted  a  change  in  him,  he  was  equally 
201 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

quick  to  read  an  alteration  in  her.  She  seemed  irradiated 
by  some  soft  inner  happiness — it  dated  since  his  coming, 
had  he  but  known  it.  There  was  a  light  in  the  dark 
depths  of  her  eyes,  and  her  mouth  showed  a  tremulous 
and  almost  constant  tendency  to  break  into  those  sweet 
and  curving  smiles  of  which  he  had  hitherto  caught  but 
rare  and  fleeting  glimpses ;  but  the  smiles  held  something 
now  of  a  hidden  gaiety  and  even  mischief,  which 
charmed  while  it  continued  to  puzzle  him. 

"  You  really  have  grown  rested,"  he  said  at  last,  with 
a  long  breath  of  satisfaction.  "  I  can  tell  that  by  your 
looks." 

"You,  too,"  she  responded  happily.  "And  Angel? 
How  is  she?  Where  is  she?" 

"  Oh,  Angel ! "  he  laughed  heartily.  "  It  would  fill  a 
book  to  tell  you  of  Angel's  performances.  And  such  a 
company  as  we  were.  I  got  a  nurse  for  her  in  Denver, 
intending  to  send  Wang  and  Lee  back;  but  Angel 
wouldn't  hear  of  it,  and  really,  before  we  got  far,  I 
found  that  I  needed  them  all.  The  moment  that  we 
reached  the  door  here,  she  scampered  off  to  find  Herries 
and  inquire  for  her  beasts.  I  was  so  thankful  that  we 
didn't  have  to  travel  with  a  whole  menagerie  that  I 
didn't  mind  our  retinue  of  servants ;  and  think  of  it ! 
the  only  additions  to  our  household  are  a  frightened, 
chattering  monkey  and  another  screaming,  swearing 
parrot ! " 

Frances  laughed.  "  Mr.  Herries  will  be  delighted  to 
see  her  back ;  he  has  been  really  lonely  without  her." 

"  There  is  a  curious  sympathy  between  them ;  both 
202 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

oddities,"  he  smiled.  "  Well,  how  is  everything  in  the 
village  ?  Anybody  struck  a  bonanza  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  shook  her  head.  "  No  one  except  myself, 
and  I  have  in  these  books." 

This  time  his  smile  was  so  tender,  so  comprehending 
that  she  flushed  slightly  under  its  caress. 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  O'Brien  standing  in  that  loud  garden 
of  hers  looking  out  at  the  mountains  as  if  she  hated 
them.  She  was  standing  just  so  when  I  left.  Has  she 
never  moved  since?  " 

Frances  welcomed  this  change  of  subject.  "  She  does 
hate  them,  I  believe.  She  complains  that  they  shut  her 
in.  I  cannot  understand  that.  They  have  meant  the 
*  freer  step,  the  fuller  breath,  the  wide  horizon's 
grander  view  '  to  me." 

"  To  you,  yes."  He  spoke  meditatively  and  looked 
beyond  her  as  if,  for  the  moment,  he  forgot  her  presence. 
"  But  the  Pearl  is  different.  She  always  was  an  odd, 
capricious  creature.  I  never  understood  her,  and  I  don't 
believe  anyone  else  ever  did.  I  don't  believe  she  under 
stands  herself."  He  pondered  this  a  moment.  "  I  met 
Dan  Mayhew  down  in  Denver,  and  he  told  me  that  Bob 
Flick  is  here.  I'm  sorry.  Bob's  been  devoted  to  the 
Pearl  for  years,  and  O'Brien's  an  impulsive,  mad  sort  of 
a  fellow." 

He  glanced  down  at  Frances  and  noticed,  to  his  sur 
prise  and  slight  chill,  that  her  expression  had  changed. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  mentally  withdrawn  from  him.  Her 
mouth  had  set  in  rather  severe  lines  and  her  brow  was 
grave. 

203 


"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  half  turning  from  him  and 
drawing  on  her  gloves. 

"  But  why?  "  he  strove  to  stay  her,  and  then  seeing 
that  her  determination  held,  caught  at  another  plea. 
"  You  are  going  to  take  some  books  with  you,  are  you 
not?  "  Seeing  her  hesitate.  "  Of  course  you  are,  and 
you  are  going  to  let  me  carry  them  for  you." 

"  No,"  a  little  shyly.  "  I  am  sure  you  have  a  great 
many  things  to  look  after;  and  I  must  stop  a  minute 
at  Mrs.  Evans's." 

"  Oh,  no !  Not  this  morning ;  not  the  first  morning  I 
have  come  back.  Here,  let  me  select  some  books  for 
you."  He  fumbled  over  the  shelves.  "  You  see,  I  want 
to  make  the  most  of  my  time.  I  have  so  many  things  to 
talk  over  with  you,  and  after  the  next  fortnight,  I  will 
be  more  or  less  occupied  for  a  week  or  so.  There  are 
some  Eastern  and  English  men  coming  up  to  investigate 
some  properties  here,  and  I  have  asked  them  to  be  my 
guests." 

"  Ah,  yes.  Are  there  many  in  the  party  ?  " 

"  Five  or  six.  Brown,  Edgerton,  Watrous,  Sourrier, 
— an  Englishman, — and  his  daughter,  a  beautiful  crea 
ture,  Miss  Evelyn  Sourrier,  Diana,  as  we  called  her  on 
our  recent  trip.  She's  a  mighty  huntress." 

"  Ah,  yes."  Frances's  voice  sounded  strangely  flat 
and  toneless  in  her  own  ears. 

"  I  think  you  will  like  her ;  I  am  sure  of  it." 

She  drew  back  a  little.  "  I  thank  you ;  but  please 
don't  ask  me  to  meet  your  guests  or  to  take  part  in  any 
entertainment  you  may  arrange  for  them.  I  couldn't. 

204 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

I  know  nothing  of  social  life  or  observances.  Please, 
please,  remember  that  I  am  only  a  Missionary,  that  I 
have  been  for  years  a  slum  Missionary." 

"  Nonsense ! "  He  spoke  strongly ;  and  then  seeing 
her  evident  discomfort,  smiled.  "  Nonsense !  I'm  afraid 
you've  grown  morbid,  and  no  wonder,  shut  up  in  this 
God-forsaken  village  with  all  these  freaks.  Come  out 
into  the  sunshine,  Missioner — Missioner,"  lingering 
tenderly  on  the  word. 

With  a  lifting  of  the  heart,  she  obeyed  him,  and  out 
into  the  glory  of  the  golden  day  they  stepped  together. 
The  hillsides  lay  in  smiling  repose;  the  bloom  was  on 
the  earth  again.  Frances  remembered  the  open  sesame 
which  admitted  her  to  the  splendid  worlds.  Her  lips 
trembled  with  smiles,  her  voice  rippled  with  laughter. 

Garvin  was  full  of  humorous  anecdote  concerning 
Angel  and  his  recent  journey,  and  so  quickly  did  the 
time  fly  that  they  seemed  scarcely  to  have  started  across 
the  flats  before  they  turned  into  Sunshine  Avenue. 
There,  their  attention  was  immediately  and  involuntarily 
arrested  by  a  scene  of  unwonted  activity  in  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan's  front  yard,  which  was  also  absorbing  the  interest 
of  the  greater  part  of  Zenith's  feminine  population, 
who  hastily  leaving  the  stove  and  the  washtub  and  all 
that  they  might  contain,  leaned  far  over  their  front 
gates,  determined  to  lose  no  whit  of  the  proceedings 
before  their  eyes. 

Before  the  gipsy's  door  and  amid  the  tin  cans  and 
broken  crockery  which  adorned  her  lawn  stood  two 
shaggy  burros,  answering  respectively  to  the  names  of 

205 


Jemmy  and  Jerry,  and  with  the  sad  and  patient  stoicism 
of  their  kind,  allowed  themselves  to  be  laden  with  bur 
dens  heavy  and  grievous  to  be  borne. 

With  a  skill  betokening  long  experience  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan  herself  was  busily  occupied  in  adjusting  various 
cumbersome  objects  upon  the  backs  fitted  to  bear 
them. 

Hard  upon  her  heels  were  the  children,  who,  as  she 
arranged  her  camping  outfit,  were  fetching  and  carry 
ing  with  a  zeal  and  alacrity  which  suggested  that  they 
expected  immediately  to  enjoy  the  rewards  of  service. 

"  Here,  Captola,"  ordered  the  gipsy  cheerily,  "  you 
and  Josh  had  best  strap  that  cookstove  on  the  off  side 
of  Jerry,  to  balance  the  tent,  an'  you,  Celia,  can  fetch 
Mommie  her  fishin'  rods  an'  gun.  I  guess  I'll  load  'em 
on  to  Jemmy." 

Gathered  about  the  front  gate,  that  was  maintained 
upon  its  hinges  by  a  frayed  bit  of  rope,  were  gathered 
Mrs.  Evans,  Mrs.  Thomas,  and  Mrs.  Landvetter,  and 
if  attitude  and  expression  may  be  taken  as  indications 
of  inner  emotions,  these  ladies  were  evidencing  strong 
disapproval  of  their  friend's  activities. 

As  Frances  and  Garvin  drew  near,  Mrs.  Evans  lifted 
up  her  voice  to  demand  the  purpose  of  these  elaborate 
preparations :  "  What  does  all  this  mean,  Mis'  Nitsch- 
kan  ?  "  she  asked  in  sharp,  rasped  tones. 

"  Jus*  what  you  can  see,"  replied  her  friend  airily, 
arranging  some  blankets  and  provisions  more  securely 
on  Jerry's  back. 

"Sadie  Nitschkan!  "•— Mrs.  Evans's  voice  was  mag- 
206 


Before  the  gipsy's  door  stood  tico  shaggy  burros 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

isterial — "  we  want  to  know  somethin'  an*  we  want  to 
know  the  truth.  Are  you  goin'  gipsyin'  again  ?  " 

"  I  sure  9*11."  The  answer  was  decisive,  if  indif 
ferent. 

"  An'  leave  your  husband  and  kids  to  shift  for  their- 
selves  an'  in  the  care  of  the  entire  camp — which  means 
us — while  you  go  traipsin'  over  the  hills  like  a  wild 
woman?  "  Mrs.  Evans's  shrill  tones  rang  a  crescendo 
of  incredulous,  indignant  remonstrance. 

Mrs.  Nitschkan  paused  a  moment  in  her  packing,  to 
stand  with  arms  akimbo,  measuring  in  humorous, 
faintly  sardonic  contemplation,  the  group  at  the  gate. 

"  Gosh  a'mighty !  What  are  you  gettin'  so  hot  for, 
Evans?  Jack's  up  at  the  prospect  doin'  assessment 
work  for  a  while,  an'  if  a  lot  of  half -grown  kids  can't 
look  after  their  selves  an'  keep  the  roof  over  their  heads, 
I  don't  know  when  they're  goin'  to  learn.  You  girls 
kind  o'  keep  an  eye  on  'em  an'  they'll  be  all  right.  Come 
on,  Bob,  we  might  as  well  be  movin'." 

"  She's  a-takin'  Bob,  the  only  one  that's  got  any  idea 
of  behavin',"  groaned  Mrs.  Thomas.  "  But  if  they  get 
sick,  Mis'  Nitschkan,"  she  pleaded  desperately,  "  an' 
you  know  that  all  flesh  is  grass  enough  to  do  that  now 
an'  then,  why,  where  air  we,  an'  where  air  you  ?  " 

"  How  kin  I  tell?  "  answered  the  Amazon  happily, 
leading  Jerry  carefully  through  the  gate,  while  her  lad 
followed  her  with  Jemmy.  "  But,"  emphatically,  "  they 
ain't  goin'  to  get  sick.  These  kids  is  tough  as  whip 
cord.  Here  you,"  turning  to  the  children  with  a  last 
admonition,  "now  you  take  care  of  things  an'  do  right, 

207 


THE    NEW    MISSIONER 

an'  we'll  bring  you  somethin'  nice ;  but  if  you  don't,  it's 
a  lickin'  apiece.  So  long,  girls." 

The  women  turned  to  each  other  with  lacklustre 
eyes  and  elongated  faces. 

"  Well,  we  certainly  got  our  work  cut  out  for  us," 
sighed  Mrs.  Thomas,  with  the  finality  of  despair,  as 
they  watched  their  sturdy  friend  starting  afoot  and 
light-hearted  in  her  quest  of  the  open  road,  leading  one 
reluctant  burro  herself,  while  her  equally  sturdy  boy 
tugged  at  the  rope  of  its  companion,  their  faces  set 
toward  the  black,  mysterious  pines  at  the  foot  of  the 
shining  peaks. 

"  What'd  happen  to  us  poor  women  if  we'd  shirk  our 
responsibilities  like  what  she  does?  "  cried  Mrs.  Thomas, 
settling  her  sunbonnet  with  impatient  hands.  "  An' 
yet  she  gets  along  as  good  as  the  rest  of  us.  I  never 
go  to  Denver  for  a  day,  but  what  I  come  home  to  find 
my  kids  in  bed  with  a  ketchin'  disease,  or  with  some  of 
their  legs  an'  arms  broke." 

61  I'll  bet  there  ain't  a  bakin'  of  bread  in  the  house," 
snapped  Mrs.  Evans. 

**  Nor  a  stick  of  vood  in  de  shed,"  ruminated  Mrs. 
Landvetter  gloomily.  "  Now  you  know  how  long  our 
vood  piles  is  goin'  to  last." 

But  their  annoyance  was  far  from  communicating 
itself  to  the  four  deserted  children.  They  danced  gaily 
about,  singing  with  clear,  shrill  voices :  "  Mommie's 
gone  a-gipsyin' !  Mommie's  gone  a-gipsyin' !  "  in  a  very 
ecstasy  of  freedom.  Loosed  of  moral  band  and  tether, 
they  realised  to  the  full  that  the  world  Was  theirs  for 

208 


CHAPTER     FIFTEEN 

purposes  of  experimentation;  but  their  joy  was  not 
shared  by  their  mother's  friends.  On  the  contrary,  the 
expression  of  it  seemed  to  plunge  the  three  ladies  into 
still  deeper  gloom,  and  it  was  not  until  they  had  slightly 
recovered  from  the  blow  of  the  gipsy's  departure,  and 
were  sadly  turning  homeward,  that  the  significance  of 
the  two  figures  strolling  up  the  hill  toward  Frances's 
cabin,  struck  them. 

"  My  patience!  "  cried  Mrs.  Thomas  excitedly.  "  Did 
you  see  that?  Walt  Garvin's  back,  an'  walkin'  with 
Missioner,  the  first  thing ! " 

Mrs.  Evans  gazed  at  her  with  exasperation ;  her  pro 
tective  instincts  were  always  aroused  where  Frances  was 
concerned.  "  Well,  she  ain't  a-walkin'  an'  talkin'  to  him 
your  way,  Marthy  Thomas.  She's  in  a  hand-to-hand 
grapple  with  the  devil  for  his  soul." 

"  Huh ! "  Mrs.  Thomas  scoffed  unbelievingly. 
"  That's  a  old  man-trick.  If  they  can't  get  around  you 
no  other  way,  they  begin  beggin'  you  to  save  their 
souls." 

"  Before  you  take  to  criticism'  others,"  returned  Mrs. 
Evans  icily,  "  you  better  be  lookin'  to  your  own  be 
haviour.  You  ain't  yet  explained  about  Dan  Mayhew." 

Mrs.  Thomas  twisted  her  shoulders  impatiently.  "  I 
ain't  made  up  my  mind,"  she  muttered  sullenly.  "  They's 
others ;  an'  I  told  you  once,  it's  more  fun  bein'  a  widow 
than  I  thought." 


209 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

1  HE  days  that  followed  Garvin's  return  remained 
in  Frances's  memory  like  a  cloud  of  rainbow-hued 
bubbles  blown  into  an  atmosphere  of  strained  honey. 
She  was  environed,  encompassed,  enfolded  by  sympathy 
and  understanding;  and  in  addition,  she  had  the  con 
stant  intellectual  stimulation  of  a  mind  infinitely  more 
comprehensive  and  cultivated  than  her  own.  This  de 
lightful  companionship  revealed  not  only  Garvin  to  her, 
but  herself  to  herself. 

No  matter  what  the  demands  of  his  affairs,  and  they 
were  many,  there  was  not  a  day  when  he  and  she  did 
not  read  or  walk  together.  Sometimes  these  strolls  led 
them  to  the  sunlit,  open  flats,  where  the  butterflies 
drifted  and  the  wind  and  sun  beat  upon  their  faces ;  and 
again,  they  wandered  in  the  dim  seclusion  of  the  forest. 
One  afternoon  they  had  climbed  far  up  to  the  roofs 
of  the  world.  Frances  had  never  been  so  high.  Below 
her  lay  the  vast,  sunflooded  sea  of  atmosphere,  the 
ranges  lifting  their  peaks  above  it,  as  islands  from  the 
sea.  For  a  moment  she  felt  a  sense  of  panic,  a  horror 
of  the  immensity  before  her,  and  almost  yielded  to  the 
impulse  to  fling  herself  flat  upon  the  bare  mountain  side, 
and  hide  from  her  eyes  this  terrifying  glimpse  of  in 
finity  ;  but  this  was  quickly  succeeded  by  a  sweep  of 
exhilaration,  an  impelling  desire  to  lift  herself  on  her 

210 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

toes  and  spread  her  arms  and  fly — fly  out  into  the  vast 
blueness  before  her.  She  thought  of  Garvin  with  a  great 
heart-throb  of  admiration.  She  was  here  on  this  moun 
tain  top  with  one  of  the  lords  of  life.  Her  mind  reverted 
to  Campbell,  and  his  profound  belief  in  the  unseen 
kingdom.  Then  she  turned  quickly  from  the  thought. 
Beside  her  was  one  of  the  real  conquerors.  Had  he  not 
struggled  mightily  with  the  mountains  and  subdued 
them — these  stern  and  savage  mountains  which  brooded 
always  over  their  hidden  treasures?  Could  he  not  go 
into  the  marts  of  the  world  and  buy,  buy,  buy,  and 
yet  leave  his  great,  golden  hoard  almost  untouched? 

So  long  was  she  silent  that  Garvin  leaned  forward  to 
interrupt  her  reverie ;  but  the  wind  blew  the  words  from 
his  mouth  in  an  opposite  direction.  He  laughed  and 
looked  at  her.  The  same  wind  had  blown  the  great  coils 
of  her  hair  down,  and  tossed  it  about  her  like  a  storm 
cloud.  In  its  shadow  he  saw  a  flush  rise  upon  her  cheek, 
that  carnation,  the  very  thought  of  which  had  made  his 
heart  throb.  For  a  moment,  or  an  eternity,  they  gazed 
into  each  other's  eyes ;  and  then  she  caught  her  hair 
and  busied  herself  in  an  embarrassed  and  futile  attempt 
to  wind  it  about  her  head;  but  the  wind  still  baffled  her 
efforts,  and  Garvin's  eyes  were  still  upon  her,  so  she 
took  refuge  in  a  flight  as  hasty  as  she  could  make  it, 
down  the  hill. 

Among  the  trees  she  achieved  something  like  an  ar 
rangement  of  her  hair  and  became  herself  again,  if 
anything,  a  thought  more  sedate  and  reserved  than  be 
fore.  Down  low  on  the  mountain  the  air  was  mild,  there 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

was  a  soft  languor  in  the  touch  of  the  wind  on  one's 
cheek;  the  earth  lay  in  a  sort  of  dreaming  brightness, 
and  the  hillsides  were  like  vast,  changing  mosaics  of 
colour,  inwrought,  overlaid,  inlaid  with  the  gold  of  the 
aspens,  the  crimson  and  flame  of  the  maples,  the  green 
gloom  of  the  pines ;  and  from  farther  purple  mountains 
rose  the  white  peaks,  sharply,  coldly  distinct  against 
the  deep,  bending  blue  of  the  sky. 

There  are  certain  temperaments  so  susceptible  to 
colour  that  it  acts  upon  them  as  an  intoxicant,  and 
Frances  was  one  of  these.  "  Oh,  the  glory  of  it !  The 
wonder  of  it ! "  she  whispered.  Then  as  if  seeking  re 
lief  from  the  unbearable  splendour,  she  turned  her  gaze 
down  toward  the  village  basking  lazily  in  the  afternoon 
sun. 

"  I  wish  things  looked  more  tidy  down  there."  She 
sought  refuge  in  the  commonplace. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Garvin.  "  By  the  way,"  diffidently, 
"  I  noticed  last  Sunday  that  the  church  is  pretty 
shabby.  Do  you  think  they  would  let  a  sinner  like  me 
have  it  painted?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  impulsively  and  looked  at  him 
with  grateful,  delighted  eyes.  "  Oh,  if  you  only  would ! 
You  say  that  the  church  needs  painting.  Well,  I  noticed 
that  you  were  there  last  Sunday  and  the  Sunday  before, 
and  I — I  am  glad." 

He  twisted  his  mouth  into  a  queer  little  smile  as  he 
looked  at  the  sun-drenched  ranges :  "  M — m — yes,"  he 
said  drily,  "  I'll  always  be  there  when  you're  going  to 
preach.  I  can't  promise  as  much  to  Carrothers." 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

"  Oh,  I  can't  preach ! "  She  was  really  abashed  now, 
the  colour  tinged  her  cheek  and  she  drew  back  and 
spoke  dep»ecatingly.  "  I  sometimes  talk  a  little,  just  of 
the  things  that  come  to  me  to  say,"  she  explained 
eagerly. 

"  That's  it !  "  He  turned  his  gaze  from  the  moun 
tains  to  look  directly  at  her  and  nod  emphatically: 
"  That's  the  reason  we  come  to  hear  you,  because  you 
speak  from  the  heart.  Your  great,  big  heart,"  he  added, 
but  it  was  under  his  breath. 

"  But  I  can't  preach,"  still  explaining.  "  I  wouldn't 
know  how  to  put  a  real  sermon  together.  The  only  way 
I  can  talk  at  all  is  that  somebody  comes  to  me  in  trouble 
and  I  get  to  studying  how  I  can  help  them.  And  then  I 
pray,  pray,  pray  for  a  message  for  them  and  for  all 
who  suffer.  Oh,  Mr.  Garvin !  "  clasping  her  hands  on 
her  heart,  the  mystical  light  coming  into  her  eyes,  "  our 
troubles  all  seem  different,  but  really  they  are  all  the 
same — and  a  message  for  one,  is  a  message  for  all. 
And  after  I  pray,  I  wait,  and  the  message  always  comes, 
and  I  just  get  up  in  that  little,  tumble-down  church  and 
tell  about  it;  but  I  couldn't  preach  to  save  my  life.  I 
often  wish  I  could  give  you  a  real  sermon,"  wistfully. 

He  looked  at  her  with  wonder,  even  a  curious  specu 
lative  awe.  "  That  is  why  we  come,"  he  said.  "  If  you 
gave  us  a  real  sermon,  I  guess  none  of  us  would  be  there. 
We've  heard  too  many  of  them,"  with  a  short  laugh. 
"  It  is  you  we  wish  to  hear." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  with  a  deepening  of  the  eyes,  a  strange 
incredulous  smile,  as  if  she  spoke  from  some  secret  con- 

213 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

viction.  "  It  isn't  me !  It's  the  Word  that's  drawing 
you." 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  he  answered,  influenced  for  the  mo 
ment  by  her  belief.  "  Maybe,"  he  sighed,  and  then 
smiled  in  amused  scorn  of  himself.  "  Well,  well,  let  it  go 
at  that.  Then  you  think  I'll  be  allowed  to  paint  the 
church  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  gratefully.  "  Oh,  look  at  the  shadows 
on  the  hills,  Mr.  Garvin,  you  can  see  them  move." 

He  nodded  assent,  then  he  smiled.  "  Well,  I  took  you 
to  a  high  mountain  this  afternoon,  even  if  I  didn't  show 
you  the  kingdoms  of  the  world." 

"  Perhaps  you  did."  Her  voice  was  low,  her  face  was 
turned  away  from  him.  She  shivered  slightly. 

"  You  are  cold."  His  tones  held  a  tender  solicitude, 
so  tender,  that  it  frightened  her. 

"  It  is  getting  chilly,"  she  cried  nervously.  "  It  is 
growing  late.  I  showed  you  the  shadows  on  the  hills, 
long  ago.  Hurry,  we  must  get  home ! " 

And  not  only  were  there  afternoons  and  mornings 
when  they  loitered  up  the  trails ;  but  long  evenings  when 
the  hunter's  moon  swung  up  above  the  black  mass  of 
the  hills  like  a  great,  silver  flower,  and  by  its  light 
Frances  would  watch  Garvin's  tall  figure  hasten  up  the 
road  with  eager  feet.  Then  they  would  sit  in  her  cabin, 
the  wood  fire  crackling  in  her  little  stove,  and  talk  over 
the  books  they  were  reading  together;  and  of  life,  al 
ways  less  of  books  and  more  of  life,  and  finally  more 
and  more  of  themselves  and  of  their  personal  experi 
ences,  and  the  colour  and  impulse  these  had  given  to 

214 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

existence.  And  under  the  steady  light  of  Garvin's 
sympathy  and  understanding,  Frances  opened,  petal  by 
petal,  in  the  joy  of  self-revelation,  drawing  from  some 
inner,  and  often  unsuspected  sanctuary,  her  inmost 
thoughts  and  feelings. 

But  not  always  did  they  sit  alone.  Mr.  Herries  was 
often  a  sardonic  third,  Ethel  and  Mr.  Campbell  came 
frequently,  as  did  Carrothers;  and  Mrs.  Landvetter, 
Mrs.  Evans  and  Mrs.  Thomas  were  wont  to  climb  the 
hill  almost  daily  to  discuss  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  reprehen 
sible  conduct,  and  their  growing  irritation  regarding  it. 

"  Something's  got  to  be  done  to  bring  Nitschkan 
back,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Evans,  with  her  customary 
emphasis,  one  mild  afternoon  as  the  ladies  sat  sewing 
in  the  pleasant  open  space  before  Frances's  cabin. 
"  Yesterday  my  Rupert  Hentzau  come  toddling  home 
with  his  little  face  all  painted  blue  on  one  side,  an'  red 
on  the  other;  an'  with  house  paint,  too.  He  said  he'd 
been  playin'  Injun  with  them  Nitschkan  brats." 

"  It  might  have  et  into  the  brain,"  said  Mrs.  Thomas, 
with  the  relish  of  one  who  loved  to  sup  on  horrors. 
"  Gee !  You  ain't  had  it  all,  Mis'  Evans.  I've  sewed 
buttons  up  an'  down  them  Nitschkan  backs  until  I'm 
dizzy.  Captola  come  to  my  house  yesterday  without  a 
button  on  her ;  jus'  stuck  as  full  of  pins  as  a  porcupine." 

"  My  vood  pile  is  'most  all  gone,"  sighed  Mrs.  Land 
vetter,  "  und  dey  haf  broke  two  of  my  vindow  panes. 
Ven  I  catch  dose  devils  I  gif  each  of  dem  a  dollar's 
vort  of  vippings." 

"  It's  weeks  since  she  left,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  dispirit- 
215 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

edly,  "  an'  old  man  Johnson  seen  her  a  day  or  two  ago, 
an'  he  says  she's  shot  a  bear  an'  was  talkin'  of  pushin' 
on  still  further;  never  said  a  word  about  comin'  home. 
She's  somewhere  up  in  the  North  Park  now,  an'  there's 
no  hope  of  gettin'  her  back  before  the  snow  flies." 

The  women  involuntarily  paused  in  their  sewing  to 
gaze  out  resentfully  upon  the  September  splendour  of 
the  narrow  plateau  and  its  enclosing  mountains.  The 
hills  swam  in  purple  hazes ;  the  aspens  fluttered  their 
shimmering  gold  through  the  scarlet  of  the  maples  and 
the  dark  green  of  the  pines.  Begrudgingly,  the  group 
thought  of  Mrs.  Nitschkan,  enjoying  to  the  full  her 
wild  freedom,  rising  from  her  bed  on  the  earth  to  in 
hale  great  "  draughts  of  space,"  alive  to  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  fooling  with  dangers,  and  embracing  rough 
discomforts  for  the  robust  love  of  them,  instinct  with 
the  gay,  fresh  sentiment  of  the  road,  tossing  the  light 
coin  of  her  jovial  greetings  to  the  passers-by. 

It  was  a  fleeting  vision;  but  sufficient  to  arouse  in 
each  feminine  breast  the  scorn  of  the  housed  and  tended 
beast  for  the  forager  of  the  woods  a  scorn  eternally 
mingled  with  an  unsubdued  and  primitive  envy. 

Mrs.  Landvetter  broke  the  silence  with  a  sharp  click 
of  her  needles.  "  Veil,  dere  must  be  some  vay  of  vork- 
in'  it  to  get  her  back,"  hopefully. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Mrs.  Evans,  who  had  been  unwontedly 
silent.  "  There's  always  a  way  out  of  everything,  an'  I 
thought  of  a  way  out  of  this ;  but  it's  got  to  be  worked 
cautious." 

"  How  vould  it  do  to  send  vord  to  her  dat  Jack's 
216 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

kind  o'  took  mit  some  odder  girl?  "  advanced  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter.  "Hein?" 

"  What'd  she  care?"  Mrs.  Thomas's  tone  was  in 
finitely  scoftiful.  "  She  ain't  like  the  rest  of  us  self- 
sacrificing,  submissive  women,  that  wins  a  man  through 
our  weakness  and  dependence,  an'  then  get  ignored  and 
neglected  or  worse,  that  is,  if  we  don't  look  sharp  an' 
ain't  ready  to  hand  'em  out  as  good  as  they  give.  Now, 
Mis'  Nitschkan,  she'll  tramp  off  gipsyin'  without  sayin' 
by  your  leave  to  anybody.  She'll  do  a  day's  work  in  the 
mines  or  shoot  deer  to  beat  any  of  'em,  win  the  boys' 
money  from  'em  night  after  night;  an'  what  do  they 
say,  '  Oh,  Mis'  Nitschkan,  she's  a  good  feller ! '  Where 
as,  if  'twas  us,  they'd  say : '  Disgustin' ! ' '  Disgraceful ! ' 
Why,  even  Dan  Mayhew,  he  was  holdin'  forth  last  night 
like  a  fool  man  loves  to,  an'  like  any  other  fool  woman, 
I  was  hangin'  on  his  words  like  they  was  gospel." 

"  '  A  woman's  place,'  he  says,  loud  and  argumenta 
tive,  '  is  stayin'  at  home  an'  mindin'  the  house  and 
kids.' " 

"'What  about  Mis'  Nitschkan?'  I  asked  real  mild 
an'  innocent." 

"  '  Oh,  she's  different,'  he  answers,  *  an'  she's  all  right, 
too,  you  bet.'  My  Lord!  Sometimes  I  think  there  ain't 
no  justice  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  the  same  talk  from  Sile,"  affirmed 
Mrs.  Evans.  "  The  other  night  I  says :  '  'Course,  Mis' 
Nitschkan's  one  of  my  best  friends,  but  she  certainly 
is  a  figure  of  fun  in  them  man's  clothes.' ' 

" '  They  suit  her,'  Sile  answers.  *  An'  I  guess  they 
217 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

suit  Jack,  too,'  he  says  real  spiteful.  *  After  he's 
married,  a  man  ain't  hankerin'  to  see  so  much  ribbon  an' 
lace  fixin's  when  he  knows  he's  got  to  pay  for  'em  no 
matter  how  the  ore's  runnin'.' ' 

"  Ain't  they  the  low  dogs  now ! "  murmured  Mrs. 
Thomas.  "  How'd  ever  us  poor  women  get  even  with  'em, 
if  we  didn't  have  a  skillet  or  a  pan  handy  now  an'  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  every  one  of  our  kids  is  gettin'  demoralised 
by  those  Nitschkan  Injuns,  an'  what  we  got  to  do  is  to 
get  her  here,  an'  get  her  to  stay;  an'  us  girls  got  to 
manage  it."  Mrs.  Evans's  tone  was  final. 

Apparently  the  manner  in  which  the  delicate  and 
difficult  matter  was  to  be  managed  was  speedily  decided 
upon,  and  a  definite  plan  for  campaign  mapped  out, 
for  a  few  evenings  later  as  the  dusk  was  falling,  the 
little  band  of  women  knocked  at  the  kitchen  door  of  the 
Nitschkan  cabin. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  gruff  voice,  and  they  entered  to 
find  Mr.  Nitschkan,  heavy  and  bearded,  sitting  alone. 
His  chair  was  tilted  back  against  the  rough  log  walls ; 
his  pipe  was  in  his  mouth  and  he  was,  to  outward  seem 
ing,  absorbed  in  meditations  from  which  he  had  no 
desire  to  be  aroused. 

A  hastily  cleared  table,  whereon  a  smoky  lamp  was 
dimly  burning,  indicated  that  Celia  and  Captola  had 
swiftly  disposed  of  the  supper  things  after  a  cursory 
method  known  as  a  lick  and  a  promise,  and,  as  their 
shouts  without  betokened,  had  joined  the  boys. 

The  ladies  greeted  Mr.  Nitschkan  pleasantly;  but 
without  changing  his  position,  he  viewed  them  with  a 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

glance  of  apprehensive  suspicion  from  under  his  lowered 
eyelids,  merely  growling  a  responsive  "  How  do,"  with 
out  removing  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

It  suited  his  visitors,  however,  to  ignore  his  lack  of 
cordiality  and  the  unrelenting  hostility  of  his  glance. 

"  Well,  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  Thomas,  with  an  ingratiat 
ing  smile,  "  us  girls  got  to  thinkin'  you'd  be  feelin5 
kind  o'  lonesome  with  Mis'  Nitschkari  gone  so  long,  so 
we  thought  it  would  be  real  neighbourly  to  look  in  on 
you,  without  waitin'  for  an  invitation."  She  laughed 
softly  at  her  joke,  as  she  threw  aside  her  cape. 

"  Yes,"  added  Mrs.  Evans  genially.  "  Yes,  indeed, 
an'  knowin'  Celia  an'  Captola  was  young  an'  inexperi 
enced,  we  brought  a  little  somep'n  along  to  help  you 
out  in  your  lunch  pail.  Mis'  Landvetter,  jus'  kindly  lay 
the  things  out  on  the  table." 

Mrs.  Landvetter  began  to  unpack  a  large  basket 
and  spread  the  various  articles  it  contained  in  a  delec 
table  array,  tabulating  them  as  she  proceeded.  "  Two 
of  Mis'  Thomas's  best  cakes,  gold  und  silver,  und 
chocolate.  You  see,  Marthy  remembered  your  taste, 
Jack ;  und  a  half  dozen  of  Mis'  Effens's  saucer  pies,  all 
kinds;  und  six  of  mem  meat  turn-ofers,  und  plummy 
duff,  und  a  loaf  of  salt  risin',  und  a  loaf  of  plain 
bread." 

A  look  of  pleased  anticipation  dispelled  the  gloom  of 
Mr.  Nitschkan's  face.  The  suspicion  vanished  from  his 
eyes.  He  brought  his  chair  to  its  legs  with  a  thud,  re 
moved  his  pipe  and  cheerfully  knocked  out  its  ashes  on 
the  edge  of  the  stove. 

219 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

"  That  certain  is  neighbourly,"  he  said,  his  glance 
fixed  appreciatively  upon  the  varied  and  appetising  ex 
hibit  upon  the  table.  "  I  wouldn't  hardly  have  expected 
it  of  you ;  "  again  distrust  wavered  in  his  eyes.  "  Here, 
Mis'  Evans,  that  chair  might  give  down,  take  this  one. 
Celia  an'  Captola  ain't  no  great  shakes,  I  can  tell  you 
that,"  grumblingly. 

"What  do  you  hear  from  Mis'  Nitschkan,  Jack?" 
asked  Mrs.  Evans  with  casual  interest,  feeling  that  the 
moment  had  arrived  when  she  might  open  the  lead  to 
which  her  trained  lieutenants  would  tactfully  play  up. 

"  I  don't  hear  nothin',"  responded  Mr.  Nitschkan  in 
a  matter-of-fact  tone,  feeling  in  his  coat  pocket  for 
some  loose  tobacco,  and  prodding  it  into  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe  with  his  thumb. 

"  My,  Jack !  The  backs  of  your  hands  is  all  split ! " 
cried  Mrs.  Thomas  with  sudden  solicitude. 

"  I  know  it ;  "  he  looked  at  them  ruefully ;  "  but  I 
couldn't  find  a  thing  in  this  house  to  rub  'em  with." 

"  My  patience !  an'  me  with  a  box  of  Rocky  Mountain 
salve  in  my  pocket ! "  exclaimed  the  tiny  Mrs.  Evans, 
lifting  her  trim  calico  skirt,  and  drawing  a  tin 
box  from  a  huge  pocket  in  her  stuff  petticoat.  "  Here, 
let  me  rub  some  on.  A  man  certain  does  need  a  woman 
to  look  after  him.  Has  Sadie  sent  any  word  when  she'll 
be  back?" 

"  Sadie?  Oh,  she'll  come  when  she  gets  ready,"  he 
replied  with  philosophic  indifference. 

Mrs.  Evans  elevated  her  eyebrows  and  shook  her  head 
two  or  three  times.  "  Well,  course  we  think  the  world  an' 

220 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

all  of  Sadie,  Jack;  but  jus'  between  ourselves,  this  ain't 
no  way  to  act.  This  camp  ain't  what  it  was  ten  years 
ago.  Folks  is  got  to  act  more  formal  every  day,  an* 
when  a  wif$  leaves  her  man  for  months  at  a  time  an' 
goes  traipsin'  over  the  mountains,  they  will  talk." 

Nitschkan  was  conscious  of  a  dull  perplexity,  a 
growing  distrust  of  his  own  customary  and  hitherto 
unquestioned  standards.  "  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he 
answered  with  a  bluff  assumption  of  ease.  "  Sadie,  she's 
kind  o'  different.  She  can't  be  penned  up  all  year  in 
four  walls ;  she's  got  to  get  out  an'  get  a  breath  of  air, 
or  she'd  give  right  out ; "  he  was  repeating  a  formula 
long  impressed  upon  his  mind. 

"  I  do'  know  if  it's  all  right,"  Mrs.  Thomas  was 
gravely  questioning.  "  Maybe  a  home-keepin'  body  like 
me's  all  wrong;  but  how  Sadie  Nitschkan  kin  go  off  a- 
gipsyin'  leavin'  you  here  all  alone  with  those  dev —  wild 
kids  to  look  after,  is  more'n  I  kin  understand.  The 
house  is  goin'  to  wrack  an'  ruin;  nothin'  to  eat  'cept'n 
what  two  half-grown  girls  cooks  f er  you,  an'  your  poor 
hands  all  bust  open  to  the  bone  on  the  backs  of  'em. 
How  kin  she  do  it?  "  -There  was  the  moisture  of  tears  in 
Mrs.  Thomas's  blue  eyes. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  while  Mr.  Nitschkan, 
holding  his  pipe  with  loose  fingers,  abstractedly  rubbed 
the  bowl  of  it  in  the  palm  of  his  other  hand.  His  head 
was  bent  upon  his  chest,  and  his  ruminative  gaze  was 
fixed  upon  a  knothole  in  the  floor,  with  the  resentful 
expression  of  one  who  has  suddenly  discovered  a 
grievance. 

221 


"  Veil,  veil,  veil !  Ve  didn't  come  here  to  make  you  feel 
bad,"  cried  Mrs.  Landvetter  cheerily,  laying  aside  her 
knitting.  "  Now  it  aind't  sociable  to  sit  here  all  de  ef  en- 
ing  mitout  a  drop  of  anything.  Here,  girls,  you  get 
busy.  Git  dat  jar  of  cream  out  of  de  basket,  Mis' 
Thomas,  und  you,  Effens,  you  vas  a  master  hand  at 
makin'  de  coffee.  Now,  Jack,"  bustling  about,  "  vich 
vill  you  haf — a  slice  of  pie  or  a  piece  of  cake  ?  " 

"  Oh,  give  him  both,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Thomas,  with 
unctuous  generosity.  "  Here,"  cutting  a  huge  piece  first 
of  the  cake  and  then  of  the  pie,  "  here,  I'll  put  your  plate 
down,  an'  Mis'  Evans  '11  pour  your  coffee.  Now,  sit 
right  up  to  the  table,"  patting  his  shoulder  with  a 
maternal  and  protecting  hand. 

Mr.  Nitschkan,  with  something  of  the  sensation  of  the 
Porter  of  Bagdad  when  he  awoke  to  find  himself  in  the 
palace  of  the  Princess  of  China,  now  completely  threw 
off  the  surly  suspicion  of  the  early  evening,  and  al 
lowed  himself  to  expand  in  this  grateful  and  comfort 
ing  atmosphere  of  feminine  consideration  and  sympathy. 

"  My  Lord !  It  does  a  man  good  to  get  his  teeth  in 
vittles  like  these,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished  the 
last  bite  of  pie  and  sat  gazing  with  glistening  eyes  at 
the  remaining  half  on  the  pie  plate. 

"  Aw,  take  the  rest,  Jack,"  urged  Mrs.  Thomas. 
"  It'll  do  you  good.  Like  enough  you  ain't  had  much 
to  stay  you  lately." 

He  took  a  deep  draught  of  coffee  and  wiped  his 
mouth  meditatively  on  the  back  of  his  hand.  Then  an 
impulse  of  gallantry  stirred  within  him,  a  desire  to  ex- 

222 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

press  his  gratitude  for  the  neighbourly  offices  of  his 
wife's  friends.   "  I  hope  Evans  'predates  his  blessings." 

Mrs.  Landvetter  rattled  her  knitting  needles  together 
and  drew  a*  deep,  rasping  breath  which  was  almost  a 
groan ;  Mrs.  Evans  tossed  her  head  and  lifted  her  eye 
brows  with  the  slight,  scornful  smile  of  the  femme  in- 
comprise. 

"He  ain't  like  you,  Jack,"  gently  explained  Mrs. 
Thomas,  "  with  a  heart  as  big  as  a  bushel  basket  an' 
pleased  to  death  with  any  little  thing  that's  done  fer 
you." 

"  That's  so,"  affirmed  Mr.  Nitschkan  emphatically, 
unable  to  withstand  the  heady  wine  of  Mrs.  Thomas's 
glance.  "  I  always  was  that  way — ready  to  'preciate, 
and — well,  jus'  all  heart;  but,"  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
"  when  a  man's  wife  leaves  him  two  or  three  months 
at  a  time  with  a  lot  of  kids  wild  as  Injuns  hellin'  around 
— what's  he  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

He  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hand,  stabbing  the  table 
with  his  knife.  Not  having  hitherto  regarded  himself  as 
an  injured  being,  he  was  enjoying  to  the  full  the  pas 
sion  of  self-pity  into  which  his  visitors'  commiseration 
had  swept  him. 

The  ladies  sighed  in  unison. 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you,  Jack,"  Mrs.  Evans  felt  that  the 
moment  had  come  for  forcing  him  to  take  action.  "  This 
ain't  right  fer  Sadie,  an'  it  ain't  right  fer  the  kids,  an' 
it  ain't  right  fer  you." 

"  Praise  Gawd,  it  ain't !  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Thomas 
fervently. 

223 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Mrs.  Evans  silenced  her  with  a  glance.  "  Now,  Jack, 
you  got  to  see  what  all  the  rest  of  us  sees  so  plain, — 
that  Sadie's  got  to  be  made  to  come  back  an'  they's 
only  one  way  to  do  it.  Scare  her  good  by  pretendin' 
that  you're  terrible  mad  at  her,  an5  that  you  ain't  goin' 
to  take  her  back  at  all,  unless  she  comes  home  at  once. 
Now,  Dan  Mayhew's  goin'  up  to  the  Park  to-morrow ; 
an'  he'll  take  a  letter  for  you  if  you  ask  him  to." 

Mr.  Nitschkan  scratched  his  head.  "  What  shall  I 
say?  "  he  murmured  helplessly. 

"  Jus'  say,"  continued  his  mentor,  pursuing  her  ad 
vantage,  "  that  you'll  have  no  more  to  do  with  her ;  that 
she  shan't  come  in  the  house  nor  see  the  kids  nor  any 
thing,  if  she  don't  come  the  minute  she  gets  that  letter. 
Otherwise,  she  can  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  gipsyin' 
if  she's  a  mind  to." 

"  If  this  dratted  weather  wouldn't  hold  out,"  fretted 
Mrs.  Thomas.  "  Any  other  year,  the  snow  would  be  flyin' 
before  this  time;  but  there  ain't  no  justice  in  the  world, 
even  the  weather's  got  to  turn  in  an'  accommodate  Mis' 
Nitschkan.  An'  when  she  does  come,"  with  growing 
petulance,  "  she'll  santer  in  sayin'  she's  had  the  time  of 
her  life,  an'  it's  a  pity  us  girls  hadn't  her  taste  for 
country  life,  then  we  wouldn't  be  gruntin'  an'  groan  in' 
all  the  time — an'  us  wore  to  frazzles  with  her  Injun 
kids !  She's  snapped  her  fingers  good  an'  strong  in  your 
face,  Jack  Nitschkan,  an'  you  bet,  she'll  probably  go  off 
for  six  months  next  year." 

"  Well,  what  kin  I  do  ?  "  growled  Nitschkan  in  shame 
faced  irritation. 

224 


CHAPTER     SIXTEEN 

"  You  can  be  a  man,  that's  what ! "  said  Mrs.  Evans 
with  ringing  significance,  "  an'  you  can  let  Sadie  Nitsch- 
kan  know  that  you're  master  in  your  own  house.  You 
can  make  it  so  hot  for  her  that  she'll  give  up  any 
thought  oT  gipsyin'  for  some  years  to  come." 

Nitschkan  fidgetted  uneasily.  "  Might  as  well  talk 
sense,"  he  muttered  gruffly.  "  It  ain't  so  easy  to  make  it 
hot  fer  her." 

Mrs.  Evans  arose  and  throwing  her  cape  about  her 
fastened  it  with  impatient  fingers.  "  Sadie  Nitschkan 
has  got  to  be  disciplined,"  she  said  firmly.  "  Brace  up, 
Jack,  an'  show  some  spirit  an'  we'll  think  of  a  way 
to  help  you  manage  it.  Come,  girls !  So  long,  Jack !  " 

"  So  long,  girls,  an'  thank  ye.  Here,  I'll  see  you  to 
the  gate." 

After  gallantly  assisting  his  visitors  to  pick  their 
way  through  broken  crockery  and  entangling  wires, 
Mr.  Nitschkan  closed  the  gate  thoughtfully  behind 
them,  called  the  children  in,  and  peremptorily  sent  them 
to  bed;  and  then  sought  diligently,  and  with  final  suc 
cess  among  pots  and  pans  for  pen,  ink  and  paper. 
Spreading  these  before  him  on  the  kitchen  table,  he 
sat,  far  into  the  night,  with  tongue  in  cheek  and  pen 
gripped  tightly  in  his  unaccustomed  fingers,  composing 
the  letter  which  was  to  bring  his  wife  to  a  sense  of  her 
neglected  duties. 

"  I  calkilate  this'll  fetch  her  in  about  a  week,  givin' 
Dan  time  to  see  her  an'  her  time  to  get  here,"  he  said, 
when  he  had  finished,  viewing  the  work  of  his  hand  and 
brain  with  immense  satisfaction. 

225 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN 

1 T  was  undoubtedly  a  blessing  that  in  the  present 
dejected  and  excited  state  of  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  intimate 
friends  their  minds  were  taken  from  the  subject  of  their 
grievance  by  the  arrival  of  Garvin's  visitors.  Sleek, 
stout  capitalists  were  common  enough — they  came  and 
went  every  few  weeks ;  but  the  presence  of  Miss  Evelyn 
Alexandra  Sourrier  caused  a  tremendous  commotion. 
This  tall,  fair,  pretty  girl  with  her  classic  repose,  her 
smart  outdoor  costumes,  her  faultless  grooming  and  her 
ease  and  charm  of  manner  was  something  new  in  the  ex 
perience  of  Zenith. 

There  was  a  noticeable  slackening  in  household  ac 
tivities,  and  a  marked  increase  in  lengthy  discussions 
held  over  side  fences  or  front  gates ;  and  the  ladies 
of  Zenith  found  plenty  to  discuss.  Each  day  there  was 
a  fresh  expedition  from  the  house  on  the  flats,  and  each 
night  from  the  open  windows  the  sound  of  voices  and 
laughter  and  music.  The  piano  would  be  touched  by 
light,  skilful  fingers,  and  a  pure,  sweet,  soprano  voice, 
not  particularly  strong,  but  charmingly  cultivated, 
would  float  out  to  the  listeners  on  the  edge  of  the 
village. 

By  day  there  would  be  the  rattle  of  traps,  the  stamp 
of  horses'  hoofs,  for  the  English  girl  rode  and  drove 
with  equal  grace  and  assurance.  Into  many  of  these 

226 


CHAPTER     SEVENTEEN 

excursions  Garvin  strove  at  first  to  draw  Frances ;  but 
when  he  saw  that  her  real  inclination  was  against  it, 
he  desisted,  and  the  gaiety,  the  action,  the  colour  of 
the  life  that  was  being  lived  on  the  flats  flowed  by 
her  like  a  stfeam  in  which  she  had  no  part. 

At  first  Frances  calmly  busied  herself  in  picking  up 
the  various  threads  of  her  rather  neglected  duties, 
neglected  in  thought  if  not  actually  in  deed,  happy  in 
the  remembrance  of  the  golden  hours  since  Garvin's 
return;  but  as  the  days  dragged  into  a  week  and  she 
learned  that  his  guests  had  so  enjoyed  their  visit  that 
they  had  consented  to  prolong  it  for  a  few  days  at 
least,  the  desolate,  almost  violent  emptiness  of  her  life 
frightened  her.  It  was  as  if  she  had  suddenly  been 
plunged  into  some  deep,  almost  unsuspected  abyss,  de 
prived  of  all  she  valued.  She  had  also  become  vaguely 
conscious  of  all  the  furtive  eyes  that  were  so  eagerly 
bent  upon  her,  for  intuitively  and  unerringly  she  knew 
that  Zenith  was  spending  a  large  part  of  its  time  won 
dering  how  she  "  took "  Garvin's  constant  attend 
ance  on  Miss  Sourrier,  and  speculating  as  to  "  how 
things  stood  between  Missioner  and  Walt." 

It  was  after  a  night  the  greater  part  of  which  had 
been  spent  in  these  reflections,  that  Frances  awoke  very 
early  one  morning,  awoke  to  count  the  days  that  Garvin 
had  spent  almost  constantly  in  the  society  of  Evelyn 
Sourrier. 

There  was  a  sore  feeling  of  disappointment  and 
resentment  at  her  heart,  an  emotion  which  she  knew  to 
be  unreasonable,  but  which  remained  to  torment  her  in 

227 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

spite  of  her  efforts  to  overcome  it.  In  some  way,  she 
felt  as  if  the  tender,  beautiful  shoot  of  friendship 
between  Walter  Garvin  and  herself  had  been  cut  and 
that  it  bled — it  bled  within  her  heart.  The  room  was 
still  dark,  although  a  pale,  cold  glimmer  of  dawn  was 
beginning  faintly  to  penetrate  it.  Frances  lay  upon 
her  narrow  bed  gazing  into  the  shadows,  and  as  she 
thus  lay,  with  wide  eyes,  Garvin's  face  grew  slowly  out 
of  the  gloom;  that  lined  face,  strong,  sensitive,  humor 
ous,  the  tall  figure  with  the  slight  droop  to  the  shoul 
ders.  So,  for  a  moment,  vividly  she  saw  him;  behind 
him  the  shadows,  between  them  the  growing  light  of 
dawn.  For  a  moment  only  he  stood  there  smiling  at  her, 
and  then — merely  the  shadows. 

Frances  never  knew  afterward  whether  it  were  a  vision 
or  some  trick  of  her  imagination,  overwrought  from  a 
sleepless  night;  but  in  the  second's  space  that  he  stood 
smiling  at  her,  she  awoke  to  a  definite  and  full  self- 
knowledge,  and  in  that  flash  of  revelation  she  saw  her 
self  as  a  silent  plant,  carefully,  steadily  putting  forth 
its  leaves,  painstakingly  growing  a  few  inches,  and 
fancying,  in  some  half-sentient  fashion,  that  it  had 
achieved  its  purpose  in  existing;  but  now,  through 
every  branch,  and  leaf,  and  tendril,  there  swept,  from 
some  unfathomable,  unsuspected  depths  of  being,  the 
tingling  impulse  of  life,  the  tremulous  certainty  that 
the  plant  was  to  bear  a  blossom,  an  exotic  and  splendid 
late  flowering.  Ah,  it  was  no  tender  shoot  of  friend 
ship  that  Evelyn  had  bruised,  it  was  the  blossom  of 
love! 

228 


CHAPTER     SEVENTEEN 

This  full  understanding  of  what  her  emotions  during 
the  past  weeks  had  meant  was  to  her  like  a  blinding 
flash  of  light.  It  was  a  shock  so  violent  as  to  affect  her 
physically.  She  sat  up  in  bed  and  gazed  about  her  with 
wild,  frightened  eyes.  Mechanically  she  caught  up  the 
heavy  mass  of  hair  lying  along  her  back  and  twisted 
it  about  her  head  with  trembling  fingers.  Then  letting 
it  fall  again,  she  sprang  from  her  couch  and  ran  to  the 
window. 

The  pale  light  was  growing,  the  first  flush  of 
rose  trembled  over  the  high  peaks,  the  silver  pines 
across  the  road  swayed  in  the  morning  wind,  and  while 
Frances  clung  to  the  window,  the  rising  sun  sent  one 
straight,  flashing  beam  through  the  trees.  Almost,  she 
heard  the  high  command  of  eternal  morning :  "  Lift  up 
your  gates  and  sing !  " 

The  breeze  swept  down  from  the  silver  pines  and 
through  her  window.  She  drew  in  its  imperishable  fresh 
ness  in  one  long  breath  that  thrilled  and  vivified  every 
nerve.  Ah,  her  gates  were  lifted  as  high  as  heaven  and 
the  very  soul  of  her  sang !  She  abandoned  herself  to  the 
exaltation,  the  ecstasy  of  those  moments  of  entire  self- 
knowledge.  A  sea  of  tenderness  flowed  from  her  heart, 
and  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  spot  where  Gar- 
vin's  figure  had  grown  from  the  dusk. 

She  did  not  take  up  the  thread  of  her  various  duties 
that  morning,  and  her  household  affairs,  to  which  she 
usually  gave  a  dainty  and  fastidious  attention,  were, 
for  the  first  time,  neglected.  She  sat,  for  the  most  part, 
with  folded  hands,  dreaming.  Through  knowing  her 

229 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

own  heart,  she  divined  Garvin's ;  and  in  a  belief  of  his 
love  for  her  she  basked  in  the  golden  content  of  the 
earth,  basking  in  the  autumn  sun. 

Her  heart  had  at  last  demanded  its  toll.  The  primi 
tive,  elemental  woman  in  her  stirred  in  sleep,  arose  in 
grave  clothes,  bound,  and  confronting  her,  cried: 

"  Starved,  atrophied,  I  yet  demand  my  reckoning, 
my  tithe  of  love,  my  j  oy  of  giving !  This  is  my  hour !  " 
And  listening  to  that  voice,  there  stole  over  the  Mis 
sionary  a  distaste  for  her  work.  Life,  the  common 
place,  ordinary  life  of  woman,  suddenly  flashed  upon 
her  the  jewel  facets  of  a  thousand  new  meanings.  Her 
splendid  worlds  were  as  dead  planets;  even  that  far, 
transcendent  country  to  which  Mr.  Campbell  sometimes 
journeyed,  and  for  which  the  soul  of  her  yearned,  be 
came  dim  and  undesirable. 

She  wanted  the  dear  world  of  everyday ;  the  warm, 
snug  fireside  of  content,  with  its  homely,  happy  duties 
of  service.  She  dreamed  of  the  soft,  moist  kisses  of 
children  on  her  cheek,  their  vague  clutching  hands  at 
her  bosom;  of  a  man's  arms  enfolding  her  and  of  his 
kisses  on  her  mouth.  To  live  in  his  hopes,  to  help  build 
his  future — that  was  a  woman's  only  life. 

During  the  afternoon  Myrtle  Swanstrom — since  a 
fortnight  past,  Myrtle  McGuire — climbed  the  trail  and 
knocked  at  the  cabin  door.  So  deliciously  conscious  was 
Myrtle  of  the  importance  of  her  new  position  that  she 
exhibited  it  by  various  outward  and  visible  signs:  such 
as  discarding  her  pink  sunbonnet  and  wearing  her  Sun 
day  hat,  as  a  sort  of  matronly  distinction. 


CHAPTER     SEVENTEEN 

"  My,  but  it's  warm !  "  she  exclaimed  as  she  seated 
herself  carefully  in  a  rocking  chair,  forbearing  to  take 
her  accustomed  seat  on  the  step,  this,  too,  as  a  conces 
sion  to  matronly  dignity.  After  due  respect  had  been 
paid  the  conventionalities,  by  inquiries  concerning 
Frances's  welfare,  she  skilfully  turned  the  conversation 
into  those  channels  wherein  the  fluid  thought  of  Zenith 
was  at  present  running. 

"  My !  Did  you  ever  see  such  goin's  on  as  they're 
havin'  over  to  Walt  Garvin's?  Why,  they  say  there's 
the  greatest  load  of  provisions  sent  up  from  Denver 
every  day;  fruit  and  vegetables  an'  all  kinds  of  deli 
cacies  that  ever  was.  An'  all  those  horses !  Well,  Walt 
can  certainly  afford  it.  Why,  Missioner,  Walt's  gettin' 
richer  'n'  richer  every  minute.  They  say  that  in  a  year 
or  so,  when  his  mines  is  more  developed,  he'll  be  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  the  whole  country.  Frank  says  he's 
thinkin'  now  about  goin'  into  politics.  Well,  it  didn't 
take  long  to  forget  poor  Lutie,  did  it?  Though  'course 
nobody  expects  a  man  to  mourn  like  a  woman,  it  ain't 
in  'em.  Do  you  think  the  English  girl's  pretty?  " 

"  Very,"  replied  Frances  briefly. 

"Kind  o'  tall,"  belittled  Myrtle;  "but  she's  real 
nice.  Folks  expected  her  to  be  terrible  proud,  but  she 
ain't;  not  a  mite.  'Course  she  talks  so  low  an'  fast  an' 
kind  o'  foreign  that  you  can't  hardly  understand  her; 
but  she  ain't  so  bad. 

"  Say,  Missioner,  Frank  an'  me  wants  you  to  come 
down  some  evening  real  soon  an'  take  supper  with  us. 
I  mos'  got  the  house  in  order,  an'  it's  awful  cute.  An', 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Missioner,  Frank  an'  me's  as  happy  as  the  day's  long. 
When  I  think  how  crazy  I  acted — my!  But  then,  girls 
ain't  got  any  sense.  It  takes  bein'  married  to  settle 
'em.  An',  Missioner," — with  real  affection  and  loyalty, 
— "  I  ain't  forgot  how  you  tried  to  keep  me  straight 
an'  make  me  see  my  duty.  You  don't  know  what  it 
means  to  the  women  in  this  camp  to  feel  that  they's 
one  woman  they  can  come  to  an'  kind  o'  talk  things 
over  with.  Frank  an'  me  owes  a  lot  of  our  happiness 
to  you,  an' — oh,  Missioner," — with  a  long  sigh, — "  I 
am  so  happy  !  " 

"  Myrtle,  I'm  so  glad."  Frances  spoke  with  heartfelt 
tenderness,  and  eternal  sisterhood  expressed  itself  in 
the  smile  that  passed  between  them. 

Myrtle  suddenly  leaned  forward  and  gazed  excit 
edly  through  the  door.  "  I  thought  that  was  her  dress," 
she  explained.  "  Say,  Missioner,  it's  the  Pearl  goin'  up 
the  hill  with  Bob  Flick.  Ain't  it  awful  the  way  she 
traipses  round  with  him?  I  don't  see,"  with  the 
severity  of  the  newly  wed,  "  how  married  women  can 
carry  on  like  that.  Ain't  they  got  their  own  hus- 
hands?" 

But  both  the  Pearl  and  Bob  Flick  were  not  only 
indifferent  to  gossip,  but  oblivious  of  it.  Where  the 
Black  Pearl  beckoned,  Flick  walked.  If  there  was  dan 
ger  in  the  path  they  trod,  he  cared  as  little  as  she. 
O'Brien  was  away  all  day  at  the  mines.  Flick  dealt  faro 
bank  all  night;  but  during  the  afternoons  he  often 
stood  by  Mrs.  O'Brien's  gate,  although  he  never  en 
tered  her  house,  and  together  they  would  stroll  through 


the  village  street  and  up  the  trails,  entirely  heedless  of 
the  eyes  which  peered  curiously  from  every  window  and 
doorway. 

This  afternoon,  after  passing  the  Missionary's 
cabin,  the  two  climbed  upward  for  a  time,  following  a 
narrow  trail  until  they  reached  a  huge,  flat  rock  in  the 
soft  gloom  of  a  row  of  encircling  pine  trees,  whose  tall, 
dark  tops  pointed  upward  like  Gothic  spires  in  the  deep 
blue  sky.  Here  they  seated  themselves,  and  Flick  drew 
a  large  handkerchief  of  checkered  silk  from  his  pocket 
and  slowly  wiped  his  brow.  Not  being  a  discerning  per 
son,  he  had  failed  to  notice  that  the  Black  Pearl's  inter 
est  in  him  continued  to  be  singularly  desultory  and  im 
personal.  It  was  enough  that  she  would  meet  and  talk 
with  him;  but  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  suspect 
that  her  conversations  with  him  had  become  the  gate  by 
which  she  could  escape  the  high,  crowding  mountains 
and  wander  again  in  the  remote  and  shadowy  wastes  of 
the  desert.  That  her  manner  toward  him  was  of  un 
changed  and  careless  indifference,  and  that  her  light 
coquetry  was  inherent  and  habitual,  did  not  trouble 
him.  She  had  always  been  that  way  since  he  had  known 
her. 

For  a  few  moments  they  sat  in  silence,  gazing  down 
into  the  valley  shimmering  in  sun-hazes  below,  silent  for 
a  time;  the  Pearl's  mind  busy,  as  usual,  with  the 
mirage  of  her  fancy.  Suddenly  she  drew  her  breath  in 
sharply :  "  A  person  could  breathe  down  there,"  she 
cried.  "  Say,  wasn't  that  air  good?  It  just  seemed  to 
put  fresh  life  into  you." 

233 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Flick  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  Pearl,  where  was 
you  born  an'  raised  ?  " 

She  glanced  up  quickly.  "  Oh,  I  do'  know,"  evasively. 
"  I  been  about  a  good  deal,  'most  everywhere ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  been  lookin'  fer  it,  Bob,  forever; 
that  somethin',  I  don't  know  what,  that  I  always,  al 
ways  been  a-dreamin'  of  an'  longin'  fer." 

"  I  don't  ketch  what  you're  harpin'  on,"  he  said 
patiently.  "  I  don't  see  how  anybody  could  be  more 
free  than  you  was.  'Course,  if  you  would  go  and  get 
married " 

"  I  wasn't  never  free,"  she  said  passionately.  "  There 
ain't  nothin'  free  that's  hobbled,  even  if  the  hobble's 
round  your  heart  an'  don't  show." 

"  The  mountains  do  seem  to  kind  o'  hedge  you  in," 
said  the  man,  adopting  what  he  supposed  to  be  her 
point  of  view,  "  an'  it  sure  don't  seem  right  fer  you 
to  be  caged  up  here.  You  " — he  looked  at  her  half 
fearfully,  and  slightly  moistened  his  lips — "  I'm  a-goin' 
down  the  trail  in  a  few  days;  come  on  an'  go  with 
me." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  can't  go  junketing  round 
with  you,  Bob;  you're  a-forgettin'  Shock." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  a-forgettin'  Shock,"  he  answered 
coolly.  "  If  you  go  with  me,  Pearl,  him  an'  me'll  prob 
ably  have  it  out  sometime;  but  that  ain't  worryin'  me 
none.  Pearl,  I  ain't  forgot  the  first  time  I  saw  you. 
It  was  in  the  back  room  at  Chickasaw  Pete's,  an'  you 
was  a-shakin'  dice  with  two  or  three  of  the  boys,  an' 
I  joined  the  game.  I  never  admired  no  one  in  my  life 

234 


For  a  long  time  they  sat  in  silence 


CHAPTER     SEVENTEEN 

like  I  admired  you  then,  for  I  knew  you  wasn't  shakin' 
'em  square;  but  you  done  it  so  slick  that  I  couldn'b 
tell  how  you  managed  it,  an'  you  walked  out  in  about 
twenty  minutes  with  the  best  part  of  our  money.  You 
remember,  Pearl?*1' 

"  Oh,  I  remember,"  the  mysterious  veil  of  reverie  had 
fallen  over  her  sulky  eyes. 

"  An'  the  next  time  I  seen  you,  you  was  dancin'. 
You  had  them  emeralds  twisted  around  your  neck. 
Have  you  forgot  how  to  dance?  " 

"  No,  I  ain't  forgot."  She  stirred  her  feet  rest 
lessly.  "  Oh,  I  ain't  forgot."  There  was  a  moment  of 
silence.  "  Bob,  I  always  could  talk  to  you,  some  way. 
I  wonder  why?  With  the  other  boys  it  was  laugh  an* 
carry  on ;  but  I  could  always  sit  down  and  talk  sober  an' 
serious  to  you.  You  never  made  a  fool  of  yourself 
about  me." 

The  man's  face  had  grown  grey.  He  attempted  to 
speak  once  or  twice  before  the  words  came.  At  last  he 
laughed,  one  brief,  harsh  note. 

"  Maybe  I  didn't,  Pearl.  They  was  enough  of  'em 
makin'  fools  of  themselves  about  you,  God  knows !  An' 
I  see  right  from  the  start  that  you  didn't  give  a  damn 
for  any  of  'em;  but  I  was  always  a  fool  about  you  in 
my  heart.  They's  always  plenty  of  men  to  go  crazy 
about  you,  Pearl;  to  lie,  an'  steal,  an'  to  kill  each 
other  fer  you,  an'  make  damn  fools  of  theirselves  gen 
erally.  There's  a-plenty  that  likes  to  show  off  that 
a-way;  but  there's  only  two  or  three  in  all  your  life 
that'll  ever  really  love  you,  an'  one  of  'em's  me." 

235 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

He  turned  to  meet  her  faintly  astonished,  cynical 
gaze.  "  It's  true ;  it's  God's  truth ! "  he  said  doggedly, 
again  drawing  the  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  with 
a  trembling  hand  and  passing  it  over  his  brow  and  his 
ashen  face.  "  Oh,  I  always  wanted  you !  Yes,  I'd  a 
stole  an'  lied  an'  fought  fer  you,  too.  You  drove  me 
as  stark,  starin'  crazy  as  the  rest  of  'em;  but  that 
weren't  all.  There  was  somethin'  in  you,  Pearl,  that 
kind  o'  made  me  dream,  an'  that  stayed  with  me;  an* 
it  don't  let  me  think  much  about  myself.  It's  about  you. 
An'  now  I  feel  it  this  a-way.  You  ain't  jus'  quite  your 
self.  You're  a-feelin'  the  need  of  a  little  change.  See? 
Well,  you  come  down  the  trail  with  me  of  a  Thursday." 

It  was  several  minutes  before  she  answered.  "  I 
couldn't,  Bob,"  and  she  added  gently :  "  You've  kind 
o5  surprised  me.  I  didn't  know  you  felt  that  way  for 
me,  an'  I'm  awful  sorry,  honest,  I  am;  but  I  couldn't 
go." 

"  Maybe  I  ain't  made  it  plain  to  you,"  he  pleaded. 
"  Maybe  you  didn't  understand.  I  mean  it  this  a-way," 
in  laborious  explanation.  "  I  ain't  tryin'  to  take  you 
away  fer  myself.  It's  because  I  see  you  ain't  happy 
that  I'm  a-askin'  you  to  go.  All  I'm  a-askin'  is  to  look 
after  you,  an*  see  that  you're  comfortable.  You  kin 
think  of  me  as  a  kind  of  human  dog.  You'll  let  me  set 
around  when  it  don't  bother  you  none;  an'  when  you 
get  tired  of  me  you  kin  kick  Fido  out,  and  it'll  be 
back  to  the  kennel  fer  his.  That's  all  I'm  a-askin', 
Pearl." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  and  looked  at  him  strangely, 
236 


with  something  new  in  her  glance,  something  that  he 
had  never  seen  there  before. 

"  God,  Bob !  But  you're  a  good  fellow !  "  she  said  in 
an  awed  voice.  "  I  didn't  suppose  there  was  any  of 
your  kind  on  the  earth ;  but  you  don't  understand/' 

"  I  kin  learn,"  he  said  humbly.  "  Try  me  an*  see  if 
I  can't." 

She  smiled  at  him  her  heart-shattering,  cynical  smile. 
"  I  don't  see  how  you're  a-goin'  to  learn  somethin'  that 
I  don't  understand  myself,"  she  answered ;  "  an'  that's 
me.  There's  so  many  of  a  person,"  resentfully,  "  so 
terrible  many  of  a  person.  There's  a  somethin'  in  me 
that's  tired,  somethin'  that's  played  the  game  fer  a 
thousand  years  an'  knows  there  ain't  nothin'  in  it;  an' 
there's  somethin'  in  me  that's  got  to  live,  an'  that  some- 
thin'  says,  '  Everything  comes  to  you  so  easy,  reach 
out  an'  enjoy  it';  an'  maybe  that's  the  reason  that  it 
don't  never  seem  of  no  account.  'Cause  it  always  comes 
so  easy." 

The  pine  needles  fell  about  them.  New  arrows  of 
sunlight  pierced  the  soft  gloom,  and  for  a  time  they 
sat  in  the  silence  of  the  hills,  the  Pearl's  wistful  eyes 
searching  the  past. 

"  You  was  a-talkin'  about  my  jewels  a  while  back, 
Bob,"  she  began  suddenly.  "  Well,  the  night  before  I 
was  married  I  give  'em  all  to  Father  Gonzales.  It  was 
in  that  dark  little  chapel,  with  just  a  candle  or  so 
burnin'  before  the  shrines;  an'  it  was  so  still,  an' 
smelled  faint  of  incense.  An'  you  kind  o'  felt  things, 
things  you  hadn't  never  known.  Well,  I  give  him  my 

237 


THE    NEW    MISSIONER 

emeralds,  an*  I  says :  *  Make  some  poor  souls  happy 
with  what  you  can  get  for  these,  Padre.'  Then  he 
handed  out  a  line  of  talk  that  sounded  mighty  good  to 
me.  He  says :  *  This  deed  that  you  done,  my  daughter, 
redeems  your  soul.  Live  clean  an'  happy  from  now  on,' 
he  says,  c  an'  forget  the  past.'  Oh,  but  his  words  felt 
warm  to  my  heart !  *  That's  what  I  want,  Padre,5  I 
says ;  *  that's  what  I  want.'  I  stripped  the  rings  off  my 
fingers,  an'  I  piled  'em  up  in  his  hands;  an'  I  cried, 
Bob.  Lord,  how  the  tears  run  down  my  face,  an'  I 
don't  know  when  I'd  ever  cried  before!  Well,  he  took 
an'  laid  the  rings  on  the  altar,  an'  he  said :  '  These 
offerings  an'  your  tears  washes  your  soul  white.  Go  in 
peace,  my  daughter,  an'  sin  no  more.'  An'  I  believed 
him."  There  was  despair  in  her  voice.  "  But  it  was  a 
lie,  all  a  lie,  jus'  like  everything  else.  I  can't  find  no 
happiness.  There's  too  many  of  me;  an'  yet,  I  know 
there's  somethin',  somethin'  that  I've  missed,  an'  I  don't 
know  how  nor  where  to  find  it.  You  all  always  laughed 
at  me  'cause  I  didn't  know  how  to  tell  it;  I  jus'  called 
it  bein'  free." 

Flick  turned  on  her  with  sudden  passion.  "  An'  you 
won't  never  find  it  as  long  as  you  stay  with  Shock 
O'Brien.  They  tell  me,"  he  clinched  his  hands  on  his 
knees  and  the  dark  purple  crept  up  slowly  under  his 
skin,  "  they  tell  me  he  ain't  no  scruples  against  knockin' 
you  'round  as  he  feels  like.  I'd " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  livid  with  fury.  "  They  say, 

they   say "      She  broke  into   a  torrent   of  oaths. 

"  Yes,  Bob  Flick,"  growing  calmer,  "  it's  true.  He's  hit 

238 


CHAPTER     SEVENTEEN 

me,  an*  he's  hit  me  more'n  once.  But  why?    'Cause  he 
was  jealous." 

"  I  don't  see  what  difference  that  makes,"  he  mut 
tered. 

"You  don't?  I  suppose  not," — with  infinite  scorn, — 
"  but  any  woman  would.  Why,  he  loves  me  so  much 
that  it  drives  him  plumb  off  his  head  to  see  another 
man  look  at  me.  An'  when  he  gets  that  way  he  ain't  no 
idea  what  he  does.  An'  he  ain't  never  raised  a  bruise  on 
me,  not  once,  that  he  ain't  cried  like  a  baby  an'  broke 
his  heart  over  it  when  he  come  to  himself.  Maybe  you 
think,  Bob  Flick,  'cause  I  kind  of  like  to  talk  over  old 
times  with  you,  that  I'd  go  off  with  you  an'  leave  him. 
Why,  I'd  see  you  dead  in  the  ditch  first.  Maybe  you 
think  'cause  I  kind  of  hate  the  mountains  and  the  flat 
old  life  here  that  I'm  tired  of  Shock.  Well,  you  got 
another  good  long  guess  comin'." 

She  swept  by  him,  drawing  her  skirts  contemptuously 
from  his  shoe,  and  started  down  the  trail.  Then  her 
mood  changed,  she  turned  and  smiled  cajolingly  at 
him,  and  ran  back  to  stretch  out  a  conciliatory  hand. 

"  Don't  pay  no  'tention  to  me,  Bob.  You're  one  of 
the  best  ever,  an'  I  know  you  mean  kind,  no  matter 
how  I  take  on.  But,  my  Lord!  I  got  to  run.  Shock'll 
be  home,  an'  no  supper  fer  him.  So  long." 

She  hastened  down  the  hill,  the  cheap  pink  gown 
falling  in  long  folds  of  beauty  about  her  Diana-like 
grace,  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  brightening  her  sun 
burned  hair — and  never  a  thought  for  the  man  who  sat 
motionless  watching  her. 

239 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 

1  HE  divine  day  through  which  Frances  had  dreamed 
proved  to  be  only  a  weather-breeder,  for  the  next  day 
an  early  and  unexpected  storm  set  in. 

A  storm! — the  breeze  of  Fate,  for  it  had  a  curious 
effect  upon  the  Missionary's  destinies.  She  had  been 
invited  to  Mrs.  Landvetter's  to  sup  and  spend  the  even 
ing,  and  in  spite  of  the  threatening  skies  had  gone,  for 
she  very  largely  ignored  the  weather;  but  the  storm 
increased  so  steadily  in  violence  that  after  supper,  as 
they  sat  about  the  hearth,  she  began  to  fear  she  might 
not  be  able  to  make  her  way  to  the  cabin  that  night. 

"  Mein  gracious !  How  dat  vind  blow !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Landvetter,  as  a  cold  gust  from  the  peaks  rat 
tled  the  narrow  windows  and  the  rain  beat  wildly  upon 
the  roof. 

"Look  how  de  water  creep  under  de  door,  und  de 
lamps  flare  up ! "  nodding  at  the  thin  flames  which 
rose  suddenly  and  then  fell  in  the  two  oil-lamps  on  the 
newly  scoured  deal  table.  "  Veil,  I  hope  dis  drive  Mis' 
Nitschkan  home.  You  can't  go  back  to-night,  Mis- 
sioner.  You  got  to  sleep  mit  Ethel." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  will  have  to  stay  if  it  will  not  incon 
venience  you,  Ethel,"  returned  Frances. 

"You  know  it  won't.  I'm  awful  glad  to  have  you," 
said  the  girl  who  leaned  against  the  rough  stone  chim- 

240 


CHAPTER     EIGHTEEN 

ney.  Her  tone,  though  sincere,  was  preoccupied,  and 
it  was  evident  that  something  rested  heavily  on  her 
mind. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  would  stop ! "  she  cried,  glancing 
nervously  toward  Campbell,  who  sat  huddled  on  a  low 
stool  before  the  stove,  and  with  restless  fingers  turned 
the  leaves  of  the  Bible  on  his  knee.  "  It's  sure  to  bring 
on  one  of  his  spells.  I've  seen  it  comin'  ever  since  the 
wind  began  to  blow." 

"  Oh,  yes,  alvays,"  was  the  phlegmatic  response  of 
Mrs.  Landvetter,  as  she  adjusted  the  pins  in  the  lace 
pillow  on  her  lap. 

But  again  the  wind  rose,  and  so  madly  that  the 
stout  door  of  the  cabin  tore  at  its  iron  bolt  and  the 
windows  rattled  until  it  seemed  as  if  the  glass  would 
break. 

While  the  women  stared  apprehensively  at  the  grow 
ing  pool  of  water  under  the  door,  Andrew  Campbell 
suddenly  cast  his  Bible  upon  the  floor,  and  with  wild, 
strange  eyes  peering  from  his  mat  of  grey  hair  and 
tangled  whiskers,  watched  the  white  slant  of  rain  drive 
against  the  panes. 

On  such  nights  as  these  one  of  those  waves  of  de 
spair  which  occasionally  broke  on  his  partly  eclipsed 
brain  was  especially  prone  to  sweep  over  him,  and  now, 
in  an  almost  incoherent  storm  of  words,  he  began  to 
pour  out  his  grief. 

"  It  was  nigh  this  time  of  the  year,"  his  speech 
marked  by  a  stronger  Scotch  accent  than  usual  and 
broken  by  sobs,  "  and  my  wife,  Ruth,  and  my  son,  we 

241 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

were  a'  up  in  our  cabin  on  Corona — ah,  but  we  were 
happy ! — happy !  "  He  lost  himself  in  haggard  reverie. 
"  Aye,  that  was  it,"  with  passionate  conviction ;  "  we 
were  too  happy — we  had  turned  our  thoughts  from 
God — we  had  forgotten.  It  had  been  raining  for  a 
week — but  the  creek  had  kept  its  banks. 

"  Ethel,  listen,  listen ! "  clutching  her  arm  with  tense 
fingers,  as  the  wind  again  shrieked  about  the  cabin. 
"  The  wind  was  like  that — we  paid  no  heed.  Ruth 
stirred  the  parritch  for  our  supper — then  there  came  a 
mighty  roaring,  like  that  of  the  sea — it  was  a'  dark  in 
a  moment.  The  teembers  o'  the  cabin  strained  and 
snapped — and  we  were  a'  out  in  the  cold,  cold  water. 
Ethel — I — I — "  he  writhed  in  the  torture  of  remem 
brance — "  I — was  saved ;  and — they — were  lost." 

At  his  first  words  the  girl  had  flown  to  him,  and 
kneeling  by  his  side  had  thrown  one  arm  protectingly 
about  him ;  and  now  she  patted  him  rhythmically  on  the 
back,  murmuring,  "  There,  there,"  as  if  soothing  a 
baby.  Her  pale  face,  with  its  pretty  cleft  mouth  and 
big  grey  eyes,  was  pressed  against  the  old  man's  arm 
and  her  ashen-fair  hair  overflowed  his  shoulder. 

Frances  leaned  forward  with  pitiful  gaze,  as  if  anx 
ious  to  help;  but  Mrs.  Landvetter  considered  her  two 
boarders  with  unsoftened,  ruminative  eyes,  as  she  me 
thodically  placed  and  replaced  her  lace  pins. 

"  Veil,  dat  is  yours,"  was  her  deep-voiced,  indiffer 
ent  comment.  "  Efferybody  has  got  deirs  comin'  to 
dem.  Look  at  me!  I  vas  forty-nine  last  Lady's  Day, 
und  I  ain't  neffer  had  a  silk  dress."  She  paused  in  her 


CHAPTER     EIGHTEEN 

work  and  lost  herself  in  the  interest  of  her  narrative. 
"  Vonce,  ven  I  vork  in  de  onion  field  pretty  steady  yet, 
I  beg  some  money  from  mein  mutter  und  valk  two 
miles  to  town.  I  vas  goin'  to  haf  a  silk  vaist  like  de 
odder  girls.  Yust  as  I  got  to  de  store  door  poppy, 
he  caught  me.  He  valk  me  home  und  gif  me  a  goot 
beatin',  I  tell  you ;  und  I  ain't  neffer  got  my  silk  dress 
yet." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  with  a  dawning  interest  in 
his  distraught  eyes,  sympathy  softening  the  anguish  of 
his  gaze.  "  And  you  have  suffered  ?  I  never  thought 
that,"  he  muttered,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Veil,"  with  a  wink  at  the  girl,  "  I  ain't  neffer  had 
a  silk  dress.  Ain't  dat  straight,  Ethel?  " 

"  Oh,  la ! "  cried  Ethel,  a  glow  of  excitement  on  her 
face.  "  Silk  dresses !  I  have  had  a  plenty  of  them  in 
my  time,  five  and  six  at  once."  She  gave  a  final  pat  to 
the  old  man  and  rose  to  her  feet.  "  The  kind  that  stand 
alone,  some  of  'em.  You  know,"  vivaciously.  "  Why, 
Missioner,  I've  had  things  'most  as  fine  as  Lutie's. 
Satins,  brocades,  failles,  grosgrains,  taffetas,  all  kinds, 
anything  I  wanted.  My !  "  with  a  reminiscent,  vain  little 
laugh,  "  I  certainly  had  my  share  of  the  vanities  of 
the  world,  'fore  I  give  'em  all  up  for  Christ's  sake. 

"  Why,  the  day  of  the  very  night  that  I  was  con 
victed  of  sin — that  was  down  to  the  Springs,  y*  know, 
Missioner,  an'  I  thought,  poor  blind  sinner  that  I  was, 
that  I  was  havin'  the  time  of  my  life — Tom,  a  gentle 
man  friend  of  mine,  had  just  struck  a  pocket  of  free 
gold,  an'  we  was  celebratin'.  I  was  keepin'  his  roll  for 


him.  The  boys  all  knew  that  they  could  trust  me  to 
any  extent"  (in  a  parenthesis  of  pride). 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  tryin'  to  say  a  good  word  for  myself — 
anyone  whose  sins  was  as  scarlet  as  mine  had  better  not 
try  that  on ;  but  I  never  stole  a  cent,  an'  I  wouldn't  lie 
to  please  you. 

"Well,  that  morning  Tom  give  me  his  roll — he  was 
a  awful  generous  fellow — an'  he  says :  '  Ethel,  it's  as 
much  yours  as  it's  mine,  little  girl;  peel  off  what  you 
like.' 

"  Well,  'course  I  took  him  up.  I  peeled  off  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  then  and  there  an'  blew  in  every  cent  for 
lingery.  I  always  was  crazy  about  lingery.  Why,  Mis' 
Landvetter,  I  bought  me  one  petticoat  that  was  nothing 
but  insertion  an'  lace  ruffles  clean  to  the  waist — lace  this 
wide,  y'  know,"  measuring  the  depth  of  her  fingers. 
"  And  I  never  put  it  on,  neither ;  for  that  very  night  I 
heard  Mr.  Campbell  here  speakin'  to  a  crowd  on  the 
street,  an'  every  word  he  said  went  right  home,"  placing 
her  hand  to  her  heart,  "  and  I  knew  I  was  saved  by  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb. 

"  But,  la !  men  don't  know  what  temptation  is.  When 
the  devil  gets  after  me,  he  keeps  whisperin'  of  pretty 
things.  He  tries  to  get  me  into  stores,  jus'  to  see  'em 
an'  finger  'em."  She  laughed  triumphantly.  "  He  had 
me  so  tight  he  didn't  want  to  give  me  up,  did  he,  Mr. 
Campbell?" 

But  Campbell  paid  no  heed  to  their  talk,  his  thoughts 
were  occupied  with  the  plaint  to  which  Mrs.  Landvetter 
had  given  utterance.  Having  laid  bare  to  her  the  an- 

244 


CHAPTER     EIGHTEEN 

guish  of  his  soul,  he  assumed  that  her  secret  despair 
had  risen  up  and  answered  it.  That  her  cause  of  grief 
was  slight  to  absurdity,  he  did  not  pause  to  analyse — 
perhaps  was  incapable  of  doing  so.  He  simply  accepted 
her  words  that  "  efferybody  has  deirs  comin'  to  dem." 
He  had  his  sorrow ;  she  had  hers.  It  mattered  little  what 
form  it  took,  whether  it  were  the  terror  by  night,  or 
the  destruction  that  wasteth  at  noonday.  His  was  the 
loss  of  wife,  home,  and  child ;  hers  the  ungratified  long 
ing  for  a  silk  dress. 

His  mind  thus  withdrawn  from  his  own  trouble,  he 
sat  more  calmly,  pondering  over  this  revelation  in  a 
nature  which  he  had  never  suspected  of  ethical  yearn 
ings,  and  suddenly  felt  himself  drawn  to  the  hard,  un 
sympathetic  hausfrau  by  the  ties  of  a  common  under 
standing. 

Mrs.  Landvetter's  thoughts,  however,  were  busy  with 
things  far  removed  from  silk  dresses.  Her  ideas  had 
gained  a  new  impetus,  and  all  night  her  shrewd  wits 
were  working  over  a  plan  by  which  Campbell's  useful 
ness  to  herself  might  be  considerably  augmented. 

The  next  morning  she  arose  with  her  plan  fully 
matured  and  the  determination  to  put  it  into  execution 
as  speedily  as  possible. 

The  storm  was  so  violent  that  its  fury  had  ex 
hausted  itself  before  daybreak,  and  the  sun  shone  upon 
a  freshly  washed,  if  somewhat  desolate,  world.  Great 
branches  had  blown  from  the  trees,  and  the  leaves  lay 
over  the  ground  so  thickly  that  it  surprised  one  to  see 
that  any  still  remained  upon  the  boughs. 

245 


"  Campbell,  he  tracks  out  pretty  soon  now,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Landvetter  to  Ethel  and  Frances,  as  they 
stood  watching  her  hang  out  the  clothes  which  she  had 
risen  before  dawn  to  wash.  "  I  got  a  plan  for  him, 
und  I  vant  you  und  Missioner,  Ethel,  to  kind  o'  coax 
him  into  it." 

Ethel  looked  at  her  with  quick  suspicion.  "  What 
scheme  you  tryin'  to  work  off  on  him  now?"  she  asked 
sharply. 

Mrs.  Landvetter  took  a  clothespin  from  between 
her  teeth  and  pinned  up  a  sheet  to  the  line.  "  Veil,"  she 
began  slowly,  "  I  don't  see  no  reason  vy,  instead  of 
sellin'  my  laces  to  dose  agents  dat  takes  deir  money 
oudt  before  I  gets  mine,  I  shouldn't  get  dat  old  Camp 
bell  to  peddle  'em  ven  he  goes  over  de  mountains, 
hein?" 

"  He  won't  like  it,"  replied  Ethel,  "  and  he  won't  do 
it.  Oh,  I  know,"  as  the  German  woman  was  about  to 
interrupt  her,  "you  think  anything's  good  enough  for 
him.  You  just  see  a  little,  half -cracked,  withered  stump 
of  a  man,  don't  you,  like  most  folks  does  around  here? 
But  if  he'd  wrestled  for  your  soul  like  he  done  for 
mine,  you'd  see  Christ's  messenger,  same  as  I  do.  And 
he  shan't  go  for  to  peddle."  She  turned  toward  the 
gate. 

"  But,  Ethel,  yet,"  explained  Mrs.  Landvetter, 
snatching  at  her  gown,  "  tink  how  goot  it  vould  be  for 
him.  Dose  vimmen  dat  he  shows  de  lace  to  dey  looks 
after  him  some.  Dey  gif  him  a  bed  und  a  meal  now  und 
den.  He  can't  look  after  hisself." 

246 


CHAPTER     EIGHTEEN 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Frances,  struck  by  the  reason 
ableness  of  this  presentation. 

"  I  know  it,"  admitted  Ethel,  with  reluctance,  "  an' 
maybe  I  will  ask  him  to  help  you  out.  Mind,  I  ain't 
promising  though ;  I  got  to  think  it  over."  She  walked 
abruptly  to  the  gate  with  brooding  eyes  and  com 
pressed  lips. 

"  I  haf  so  mooch  laces,"  continued  Mrs.  Landvetter 
to  Frances ;  "  ten  yards  in  de  pineapple  pattern,  und 
twelve  in  de  roses  point,  und  eight  in  de  flur  de  lisses, 
und  mooch  odders.  I  tink  I  make  dat  old  man  sell  dem 
all  right,"  with  an  emphatic  nod  of  her  head. 

"  I  really  think  it  is  rather  a  good  idea,  Mrs.  Land 
vetter,"  said  Frances  thoughtfully.  "  As  you  say,  he 
would  be  well  taken  care  of." 

"  Dat  is  so.  Dat  is  what  I  say."  And  feeling  suffi 
ciently  bolstered  by  Frances's  approbation,  she  lost  no 
time  in  notifying  Campbell  of  her  project  for  making 
him  useful.  He  shook  his  shaggy  head  and  thrust  out 
an  obstinate  lower  jaw. 

"  Am  I  to  peddle  laces,  woman?  I  gang  to  the  moun 
tains  for  meditation  on  the  meesteries  and  for  the  find 
ing  of  ore  by  means  of  my  gift.  And  I  will  not  peddle 
laces." 

For  a  day  or  two  he  remained  obstinate,  in  defiance 
of  her  rough  pleading,  and  consequently  she  deemed  it 
wise  to  defer  discussion  of  the  subject  until  Ethel  came 
home  a  day  or  two  later.  Then  she  turned  her  batteries 
on  the  girl,  until  Ethel  sought  the  Missionary  for 
counsel.  Frances,  still  impressed  by  Mrs.  Landvetter's 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

reasoning,  threw  the  weight  of  her  influence  on  the 
side  of  the  latter.  Consequently,  when  the  old  man  men 
tioned  the  subject  with  shamefaced  apology,  Ethel  was 
ready  with  her  answer. 

"  I  know,  she  spoke  to  me  about  it,  Mr.  Campbell, 
and  it  don't  seem  right,  indeed  it  don't.  For  my  part,  I 
don't  think  you  ought  to  do  a  thing  but  stand  in  the 
pulpit  and  preach.  Still,  I'd  feel  a  sight  easier  about 
you  if  you  would  undertake  to  sell  her  laces.  It  wouldn't 
be  peddlin',  really  it  wouldn't,  Mr.  Campbell;  it  would 
just  be  accommodatin'  a  friend." 

He  considered  this  view  of  the  question  with  a 
brightening  face  and  finally  accepted  it.  "  Ah,  well," 
with  resignation,  "  say  no  more  about  it.  I  will 
do  it." 

So  one  morning,  when  the  sun  lay  mellowly  over 
the  aspens,  whose  leaves  were  turning  to  gold  under  the 
sharp  touch  of  discipline  administered  by  the  frost,  and 
the  maples  were  hung  with  thousands  of  serrated,  scar 
let  banners,  which  floated  and  gleamed  through  the 
pines,  austerely  dark,  permanently  green,  old  Andrew 
Campbell  trudged  up  the  road  toward  the  shining,  snow- 
clad  peaks,  his  wire  in  his  hand  and  Mrs.  Landvetter's 
laces  snugly  stowed  away  in  his  pack. 

And  as  he  pursued  his  wanderings,  he  drew  these 
forth  from  time  to  time  with  wonderful  results,  for  the 
women  on  whose  hearthstones  he  sat  regarded  him  with 
an  almost  superstitious  awe  and  prized  his  wares  above 
their  value.  By  day  he  prospected  with  his  wire  and  his 
cabalistic  figures ;  at  nightfall,  in  the  isolated  cabins, 

248 


CHAPTER     EIGHTEEN 

he  expounded  his  "  meesteries  "  and  casually  and  some 
what  reluctantly  exhibited  Mrs.  Landvetter's  laces. 

His  very  indifference  increased  the  eagerness  of  his 
purchasers.  They  recognised  in  him  a  different  type  of 
peddler  from  the  usual  brisk,  business-like,  anxious-to- 
sell  variety.  He  drifted  into  their  cabins  and  spoke  to 
them  prophet-wise  of  things  alien  to  their  intelligence, 
but  which  roused  in  them  their  latent  veneration  for 
the  seer. 

And  in  the  different  villages  where  he  sojourned 
briefly,  he  wandered  into  the  gambling  houses,  as  naively 
sure  of  his  welcome  as  in  the  cabins.  In  fact,  these 
constituted  his  market  places,  for  this  unworldly  old 
man,  to  whom  life's  realities  were  its  mysteries,  was 
well  known  among  the  worshippers  of  the  blind  Ma 
donna  of  chance. 

But  the  season  was  a  bad  one.  Mr.  Campbell  found 
it  difficult  to  arouse  interest  even  in  the  few  claims 
he  took  up.  The  wire,  too,  proved  singularly  capri 
cious;  and  although  the  old  man  stood  patiently  on 
the  rocks  for  hours  at  a  time  repeating  his  magical 
numbers,  his  divining  rod  seldom  trembled  in  his 
hand. 

Then,  too,  the  days,  although  still  golden,  were 
growing  shorter,  and  there  was  a  nipping  touch  in  the 
air  which  warned  the  old  prospector  that  the  snow 
would  soon  drift  over  his  trails,  and  that  to  turn  his 
face  homeward  were  the  part  of  discretion;  when  sud 
denly,  by  one  of  those  sardonic  jests  of  Fate,  which 
sometimes  tempt  one  to  believe  one's  self  but  a  pawn  on 

249 


THE     NEW    MIS  SIGNER 

the  chessboard  in  a  match  game  between  the  powers  of 
good  and  evil,  his  progress  was  unexpectedly  delayed. 

Longer  than  was  his  wont,  Campbell  had  tarried  in 
one  camp  where  he  hoped  the  ore  might  prove  respon 
sive  to  his  quest;  and  there  in  the  garishly  decorated 
saloons  he  gave  the  people  the  benefit  of  his  mysti 
cism  and  the  opportunity  of  purchasing  his  claims — 
opportunities,  in  the  main,  neglected  or  ignored. 

But  this  sordid,  squalid  little  mining  village,  with  its 
magnificent  environment  of  snow-capped  summits,  whis 
pering  pines,  and  mellow  sunlight,  was  experiencing  a 
long-anticipated,  infrequent  excitement.  There  came  a 
fair  or  festival  week,  and  Mr.  Campbell,  dazed  but  in 
terested,  found  himself  jostled,  hurried  along  by  a  tide 
of  men  and  women,  hailed  by  name,  the  centre  of  laugh 
ing  groups.  The  village  for  the  nonce  had  become  the 
magnetic  lodestone  of  those  effervescent  spirits  from 
neighbouring  camps  on  whom  the  hills  had  for  months 
laid  their  repressive  spell. 

It  was  all  so  strange  and  disturbing  that  Campbell 
lost  what  little  sense  he  had  of  life's  everyday  propor 
tions.  For  hours  during  the  day,  and  until  long  after 
midnight,  he  wandered  about,  possessed  by  the  spirit 
of  excitement  and  restlessness  in  the  air. 

At  last,  during  one  of  his  peregrinations,  he  paused 
before  the  window  of  a  shop,  his  attention  arrested  by 
the  sumptuous  display  behind  the  glass. 

"  Man,  man,"  he  murmured ;  "  that  is  silk,  and  Mrs. 
Landvetter  has  never  had  a  silk  dress.  Why,"  with 
brightening  eyes,  "  I  will  take  her  one ;  it  will  be  a 

250 


CHAPTER     EIGHTEEN 

surprise  for  her.  But,"  his  face  falling,  "  it  will  doubt 
less  be  very  costly." 

He  drew  out  an  old  wallet  from  an  inner  pocket  and, 
untying  the  string  which  bound  it,  carefully  examined 
its  contents.  It  held  but  a  little  silver,  and  he  shook  his 
head  sadly  as  he  wound  the  string  around  it  once  more 
and  thrust  it  back.  "The  pity  of  it!  The  pity  of  it! 
But,"  he  considered,  his  face  suddenly  alight,  "  I  have 
money  from  the  sale  of  her  foolish  lacework,  the  miser 
able  money  that  she  will  hoard  away  in  a  stocking  be 
cause  she  does  not  know  that  there  are  silk  dresses  so 
near  her." 

Finally,  under  the  spur  of  this  suggestion,  he  drifted 
within  and  asked  to  look  at  silk  pieces.  Bolt  after  bolt 
was  unrolled  for  his  inspection  and  held  up  to  catch  the 
light. 

"  Beautiful  selection,  sir,"   said  the  clerk  genially. 

"  Aye,"  agreed  Campbell.  "  I  was  thinking  of  a 
lady,"  he  continued  slowly  and  impressively,  "  who  has 
never  had  a  silk  dress." 

"  Well,  judging  from  the  standpoint  of  women,  that 
lady  has  never  really  lived,"  remarked  the  clerk.  "  You 
ought  to  set  that  straight,  right  off.  Now,  just  because 
we're  selling  at  closing-out  prices,  I'm  going  to  let  you 
have  your  choice  of  anything  here." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  colour  she  would  prefer,"  de 
murred  Campbell;  "whether  the  yellow  or  the  red." 

"How  old's  the  lady?"  asked  the  clerk,  leaning 
across  the  counter. 

Mr.   Campbell   considered.  "  Forty-nine  last  Lady's 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

Day,"  he  said  carefully,  "  whatever  Papist  festival  that 
may  be." 

"  Then  she'll  want  black,"  the  clerk  spoke  with  de 
cisive  finality.  "  I  bet  all  these  years  she's  had  her  heart 
set  on  a  black  silk  dress." 

His  arguments  were  more  than  convincing;  but  al 
though  visibly  wavering,  Mr.  Campbell  held  to  his  orig 
inal  intention  of  prudence.  "  This  is  an  important  mat 
ter  to  decide,"  he  said  with  dignity ;  "  I  must  discuss  it 
with  my  wife." 

But  Ruth,  mythical  and  complaisant  counsellor,  evi 
dently  viewed  the  question  in  the  same  light  as  himself. 
There  seemed  to  arise  no  misgivings  as  to  his  ethical 
right  to  spend  Mrs.  Landvetter's  money  for  a  silk  dress. 

Campbell,  in  his  scrupulous  delicacy,  would  have 
starved  to  death  before  he  would  have  taken  a  penny  of 
the  sum  to  buy  himself  a  crust  of  bread;  but  in  the 
instance  before  him  he  saw  only  the  opportunity  of 
granting  to  a  fellow-being  a  long-cherished  heart's  de 
sire.  Therefore  he  returned  to  the  store  the  following 
day  and  for  the  sum  of  twenty-five  dollars  purchased 
the  silk  dress,  with  accompanying  buttons,  thread,  lin 
ings,  etc.,  which  the  clerk  assured  him  were  necessary 
for  the  proper  making  of  a  gown. 


252 


CHAPTER    NINETEEN 

MlSS  EVELYN  SOURRIER  was  enjoying  her 
experience  in  Zenith  as  much,  if  not  more,  than  any 
thing  she  had  ever  known  in  all  her  varied  and  agree 
able  existence.  The  freedom  of  the  life,  the  absence  of 
blue  china  standards,  the  peculiarities  of  the  people 
she  met  in  this  remote  mining  village  all  delighted  her. 
Especially  did  she  profess  herself  charmed  with  Fran 
ces  and  her  home. 

The  tiny  cabin  nestling  against  the  ledge  of  rock, 
with  the  aspens  quivering  over  it,  the  brook  that  foamed 
down  the  deep  gully  before  the  door,  the  black-robed, 
composed  figure  of  the  Missionary  herself,  all  appealed 
to  her  imagination.  The  picture  seemed  so  complete,  so 
suited  to  its  environment,  and  Frances,  so  reserved,  so 
controlled,  showing  only  glimpses  of  the  woman  in  oc 
casional,  revealing  glances  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  her 
strange,  sweet,  unexpected  smiles,  had  become  to  Eve 
lyn  a  fascinating  puzzle. 

Consequently,  during  the  second  week  that  Garvin's 
guests  remained  with  him,  there  was  scarcely  a  day 
that  this  light-hearted,  laughing  girl  did  not  climb  the 
hill  to  the  Missionary's  door  and  beg  to  be  allowed  to 
make  herself  a  cup  of  tea.  She  loved  to  play  with 
Frances's  dainty  kitchen  utensils,  all  stowed  away,  fair 

£53 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

and  shining,  in  the  little  cupboard  behind  the  stove. 
It  made  her  feel  as  if  she  were  a  child  again  and  play 
ing  with  her  dolls. 

But  Frances's  little  cabin  was  not  the  only  one  in 
which  she  sipped  tea.  She  had,  with  a  most  endearing 
grace  of  manner,  made  herself  very  much  at  home  in 
Zenith,  and  the  consensus  of  the  camp's  opinion  was 
duly  expressed  by  Mrs.  Thomas : 

"  I  mus'  say  for  her,"  remarked  that  lady,  with  a 
judicial  air  of  giving  the  devil  his  due,  "  that  she's 
always  called  on  me  as  one  lady  might  on  another.  I 
ain't  seen  no  signs  of  any  soup  kitchen  airs  or  any 
totin'  around  of  red  flannels,  like  you  read  about  in 
them  English  novels.  'Course  it's  kind  o'  sad  to  think 
of  Walt  havin'  all  them  high-jinks  goin'  on  at  the 
house  an'  Lutie  hardly  cold  in  her  grave;  but  then  not 
bein'  really  married,  Walt  don't  have  to  keep  up  a  show 
of  mournin'  like  a  man's  bound  to  for  a  wife." 

But  if  Zenith  consented  to  forego  for  once  her  cher 
ished  rights  of  criticism  and  voice  approval  of  Miss 
Sourrier,  the  English  girl  expressed  an  equally  flat 
tering  opinion  of  Zenith  as  she  sat  on  the  Missionary's 
doorstep,  sipping  her  third  cup  of  tea. 

"  I  do  like  it  here,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  content. 
"  Freedom,  open  air,  good  sport — what  more  could  one 
ask?  It's  just  the  life  I  love;  and  was  there  ever  such 
a  delicious,  quaint  camp?  I  am  fascinated  by  every 
one,  but  most  of  all  by  that  strange,  beautiful  creature 
they  call  the  Black  Pearl.  I've  watched  her  standing  irt 
her  gate  or  working  in  her  garden  day  after  day,  look- 

254 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

ing  out  at  the  mountains  with  those  great,  shadowy  eyes 
of  hers,  or  talking  to  that  dandy-looking  gambler — 
what's  his  name?  Bob  Flick — and  I  have  never  seen 
anyone  who  has  so  stirred  my  imagination  as  she.  I 
lie  awake  at  night  to  make  up  romances  about  her. 
They  say  that  she  was  a  wonderful  dancer,  known  all 
over  the  Southwest,  and  that  she  gave  it  up  to  marry 
that  ripping-looking  husband  of  hers.  Isn't  that  a  ro 
mance  in  itself?  " 

She  paused  a  moment  to  spread  some  bits  of  biscuit 
on  the  edge  of  her  gown  to  lure  nearer  the  chipmunks 
peering  at  her  with  bright,  bead-like  eyes  from  behind 
the  rocks,  and  then  scampering  off,  speedily  to  return. 

When  she  spoke  again'  it  was  of  Garvin,  describing 
with  a  very  real  enthusiasm  some  incident  in  which  she 
considered  that  he  had  shown  courage  and  exceptional 
powers  of  resource. 

"  Father  and  I  have  drifted  about  the  world  a  lot,  and 
of  course  known  quantities  of  men;  but  Mr.  Garvin 
is  really  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  I've  ever 
known;  so  simple,  so  natural,  so  cultivated,  too,  with 
no  nonsense  about  him.  Millionaires  are  usually  so  ob 
jectionable."  Her  interest  and  admiration  vibrated 
through  her  low,  charming  voice. 

"  Everyone  likes  and  admires  him,"  said  Frances,  her 
eyes  bent  on  her  sewing,  and  in  an  endeavour  to  speak 
naturally  her  voice,  even  to  herself,  sounded  cold  and 
constrained;  but  Evelyn  was  apparently  oblivious  of 
her  lack  of  enthusiasm. 

"  I  sometimes  fear  my  high  spirits  must  jar  on  him 
255 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

so  soon  after  his  wife's  death.  He  often  seems  pre 
occupied  and  distrait." 

His  wife!  Frances  threw  her  a  quick  glance,  but 
Evelyn's  eyes  were  innocent. 

"  Do  tell  me  about  her,"  she  continued.  "  Was  he 
very  much  in  love  with  her?  Mrs.  Thomas  was  telling 
me  the  other  day  about  her  demand  for  laces  and  jewels 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing  up  to  almost  the  last  moment 
before  her  death,  and  how  Mr.  Garvin  strove  to  gratify 
every  wish.  He  would  be  that  way,  wouldn't  he?  But 
she  must  have  been  very  silly." 

Frances  drew  a  sigh  of  relief.  Zenith  had  been  dis 
creet. 

"Lutie  was  very  lovable."   It  was  almost  a  formula. 

"  Oh,  he  is  wonderful,  wonderful ! "  murmured  the 
English  girl.  She  crumbled  some  more  biscuit  in  her 
hand  and  threw  it  to  the  chipmunks,  and  Frances  gazed 
at  her  with  eyes  that  took  in  every  detail.  The  pale 
gold  of  her  faultlessly  dressed  hair,  the  smooth,  firm 
outline  of  an  incomparably  tinted  cheek;  the  delicate, 
high-bred  nose;  eyes  set  in  the  head  like  jewels,  sap 
phire  eyes  that  had  only  looked  on  pleasant  things ;  the 
long,  graceful  limbs,  supple  with  every  form  of  out 
door  exercise;  the  slender,  white  hands,  now  folded 
about  her  knees,  and  her  beautifully  modelled  feet. 

She  was  indeed  a  princess  of  a  fairy  tale,  and  Frances 
mentally  saw  herself  beside  this  radiant  creature,  plain, 
quiet,  without  even  the  redeeming  touch  of  youth;  and 
the  dagger  of  jealousy  pierced  her  heart. 

"I  never  saw  such  an  Aladdin,"  continued  Evelyn 
256 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

enthusiastically.  "  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  rub  his  lamp 
and  there  is  whatever  he  wishes.  A  day  or  two  ago  I 
happened  to  say  that  if  the  mountains  had  a  lack,  it 
was  roses.  He  smiled,  and  we  drifted  into  something 
else;  but  this  morning  great  boxes,  positively  bales  of 
them,  came.  I  never  saw  so  many  roses  in  my  life 
before.  The  house  is  transformed  into  an  English  rose- 
garden." 

A  shadow  fell  across  Frances's  face,  a  shadow  that 
remained  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  until  toward  even 
ing  she  saw  Herries  staggering  up  the  hill  with  an 
enormous  box  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  guess  Walt's  cor 
nered  the  rose  market,"  he  said,  twisting  his  mouth  after 
his  accustomed  fashion.  "  He's  got  a  whole  houseful  of 
them  on  the  flats,  and  now  he's  sent  you  a  houseful." 
He  put  the  box  down  and  took  off  the  lid. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  keep  them  always ! "  she  cried, 
her  eyes  grown  moist  and  radiant  at  the  sight  of  their 
beauty. 

"  You  may,"  said  Herries.  "  You  will  be  able  to  per 
form  that  miracle  if  you  wish.  You  may  have  them 
fresh  every  day  if  you  like."  He  glanced  at  her  half- 
humorously,  half  wistfully  from  under  his  shaggy  brows 
and  spoke  with  obvious  meaning. 

"  Where,  where  shall  I  put  them  all  ? "  she  asked, 
flushing  painfully.  "  I  have  no  beautiful  vases.  We 
shall  have  to  use  common  things,  like  buckets  and 
pails." 

Herries  helped  her  arrange  the  flowers  in  anything 
they  could  find  that  would  hold  water,  and  when  they 

257 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

had  finished  the  roses  filled  every  space  of  her  narrow 
chamber.  The  long,  green  stems  with  their  shining 
leaves  feh1  across  each  other  and  made  a  lattice,  while 
the  roses  that  starred  them  glowed  against  her  white 
washed  walls  like  a  crimson  arabesque  of  love.  The 
fragrance  seemed  to  blow  from  the  heart  of  June,  and 
Frances,  sitting  alone  in  the  evening,  felt  herself  act 
ually  permeated  by  the  sweetness,  and  the  spell  of 
beauty  and  colour  and  fragrance  became  every  moment 
more  potent. 

Then  through  the  deepening  twilight  she  saw  Garvin 
and  Evelyn  strolling  up  the  hill  together.  The  English 
girl  wore  some  kind  of  a  gauzy,  white  gown  which  de 
fined  her  tall,  Diana-like  figure.  She  was  hatless,  and 
above  the  coils  of  her  fair  hair  was  a  wreath  of  roses 
arranged  like  a  coronet.  As  they  passed  Frances's 
cabin  there  floated  back  to  her  the  sound  of  Evelyn's 
soft  and  musical  laughter. 

The  Missionary  sat  for  a  few  moments  in  silence, 
and  then  went  into  her  little  inner  chamber,  and,  light 
ing  a  candle,  scanned  her  own  reflection  in  her  small 
mirror. 

She  held  the  light  high,  and  in  the  faint,  flickering 
flame  of  the  candle  the  shadows  about  her  eyes  were 
accentuated  and  the  lines  deepened.  She  could  not  see 
the  soul  which  gave  life  and  character  to  her  face;  she 
could  only  see  the  hollows  of  the  temples,  the  sombre 
eyes,  the  square  outlines  of  the  jaw  in  a  face  never 
beautiful  according  to  any  canons  of  beauty. 

She  put  the  candle  down,  and  resting  her  elbows  on 
258 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

the  bureau,  sunk  her  chin  in  her  hands  and  gazed  long 
at  her  own  reflection.  From  the  dim  depths  of  her 
being  another  self  seemed  to  rise  and  ask  probing,  im 
perative  questions. 

"  Do  you  love  him?  " 

"  Do  I  love  him?  "  she  murmured,  shaken  by  such  a 
tide  of  passionate  emotion  as  she  had  never  known. 
"  Do  I  love  him?  "  The  question  itself  was  an  affirma 
tion. 

The  fragrance  and  colour  in  which  she  had  lived 
and  moved  and  breathed  all  day  wrought  their  spell, 
and  the  shadowy  self,  the  woman  who  worked  and 
planned  and  thought,  retired  to  some  far  limbo  of  con 
sciousness,  while  the  woman  who  loved  asserted  herself, 
the  jealousy  of  which  she  had  felt  the  first  pang 
when  she  heard  Evelyn  Sourrier's  laughter  ached  like  a 
dagger  working  its  slow,  twisting  way  through  her 
heart,  and  the  cruel,  implacable  feminine — the  gliding, 
sinuous,  subtle  serpent  of  the  feminine — rose  and  whis 
pered. 

It  was  she  Garvin  loved,  not  the  English  girl — but 
she,  Frances.  It  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  must  al 
ways  have  known  it,  from  the  first  moment  they  had 
gazed  into  each  other's  eyes ;  but,  nevertheless,  she 
hated  the  English  girl.  She  could  have  torn  the  roses 
from  Evelyn's  hair.  There  were  no  roses  in  her  hair. 
No;  but  if  there  were,  she  would  not  wear  them  as  did 
Evelyn.  Her  roses,  she  instinctively  knew,  would  never 
be  plucked  in  a  demure  English  garden  and  blown  upon 
by  the  wholesome  winds  of  the  breezy  down.  The  woman 

259 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

who  loved  smiled  scornfully  at  the  thought.  She  craved 
the  musky,  heavy-headed  roses  grown  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  Venusberg. 

Herries's  words  came  back  to  her.  He  had  said  she 
could  wear  roses  if  she  would.  Well,  she  would.  She 
tore  down  the  tightly  pinned-up  braids  and  let  them 
hang  over  her  shoulder,  great  glistening  black  coils 
that  swung  heavily  almost  to  the  floor.  Hastily  she 
pinned  above  each  ear  a  cluster  of  red  roses.  With  hur 
ried  fingers  she  removed  the  waist  of  her  gown ;  her 
shoulders  were  still  white  and  firm,  her  throat  a  smooth 
column.  Oh,  they  were  not  unfitted  for  the  display  of 
jewels!  But  not  diamonds;  she  would  not  wear  those 
cold,  sparkling  jewels  that  Lutie  loved,  but  blood-red 
rubies,  and  opals  with  hearts  of  fire  gleaming  through 
faint  mist  films — symbols  of  power. 

The  serpent  whispered  the  old,  eternal  feminine  lure, 
and  the  passion  for  adornment,  stronger  and  more  vital 
because  so  long  repressed,  came  upon  her.  Was  she 
not  beloved  by  one  of  earth's  conquerors?  And  he,  and 
she  would  go  out  into  the  world  from  these  moun 
tains  where  he  had  amassed  his  great  golden  hoard. 
Go  out  magicians  who  could  transmute  gold  to  beauty, 
and  colour,  and  luxury,  and  power;  and  the  kingdoms 
of  the  world  should  be  theirs. 

The  serpent  whispered  as  ever  of  the  apple,  and  the 
eternal  feminine  stretched  forth  her  hand — when  there 
came  a  loud,  though  tremulous,  knocking  upon  the 
door.  Frances  paused  only  to  lift  the  roses  from  her 
hair  and  ran  to  answer  the  summons. 

260 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  she  called,  her  fingers  on  the  bolt. 

"  It  is  me,  Ethel,"  was  the  sobbing  answer. 

The  Missionary  made  haste  to  unbar  the  door,  and 
the  girl  stumbled  over  the  threshold.  "  Oh,  Missioner !  " 
she  cried.  "  Save  me,  save  me !  The  Devil's  got  me ;  he's 
got  me  for  everlasting !  " 

Her  face  was  sodden  with  tears,  her  hair  fell  wildly 
over  it;  brokenly,  she  poured  forth  her  story  of  what 
had  happened,  and  Frances  from  her  almost  incoherent 
words  gradually  gathered  an  impression  of  the  actual 
occurrence. 

Mr.  Campbell  had  finally  returned  from  his  wander 
ings.  About  sunset  he  stood  in  the  doorway  of  Mrs. 
Landvetter's  cabin,  and  Ethel,  bubbling  with  a  voluble 
welcome,  had  sprung  to  meet  him.  She  had  caught,  she 
explained  to  Frances,  an  immediate  impression  of  some 
thing  new  in  his  expression,  something  responsive,  al 
most  buoyant.  It  was  as  if  the  blight  which  had  so  long 
overfallen  him  had  been  partly  erased.  There  he  stood, 
smiling,  mysterious,  alert. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  back,"  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
I  tell  you  I  have  missed  you ;  but  the  change  has  done 
you  good.  You  do  look  well." 

"  Aye,  and  I  have  some  surprises  for  you  all,"  with 
a  certain  sly  glee,  as  he  placed  the  long,  narrow  pack 
age  on  the  table.  "  I  have  a  vairse  which  will  take  me  the 
winter  to  ponder  oot,  and  I  have  something  for  Mrs. 
Landvetter — something  she  has  wished  for  a*  her 
life!" 

"  For  pity's  sake !  Ain't  you  the  kindest  little  man ! " 
261 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

said  Ethel  tenderly.  "  To  remember  her  after  the  way 
— but  still  now,  that  ain't  Christian.  There  she  is  now," 
as  Mrs.  Landvetter  passed  the  window  and  threw  open 
the  door,  a  billet  of  wood  in  her  hard,  red  arms.  When 
she  saw  Campbell  a  smile  widened  the  corners  of  her 
mouth,  and  avarice  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  Veil,  Mr.  Campbell,  how  you  vas  ?  Excoose  me, 
v'ile  I  puts  down  dis  vood  und  den  I  gif  you  a  hand. 
Veil,  veil!  So,  so.  You  didn't  get  lost,  nor  nuttin', 
hein?  Sit  down  v'ile  I  make  you  a  cup  of  coffee." 

With  a  sly  glance  at  Ethel,  Campbell  took  his  old 
seat  on  the  stool,  his  cherished  package  laid  carefully 
across  his  knees. 

Mrs.  Landvetter  was  aware  that  there  were  certain 
formalities  prescribed  by  etiquette  to  be  observed  before 
she  could  put  the  one  paramount  question;  but  she 
determined  to  make  these  as  brief  as  possible.  Conse 
quently,  a  generous  piece  of  wood  was  thrust  into  the 
stove,  and  the  coffee  pot  was  filled  and  put  on  to  boil, 
with  an  obvious  bustle. 

And  now  for  the  formalities.  "  Veil,  wie  gehts  in  de 
mountains  ?  De  wire  done  goot,  I  guess  ?  " 

Her  boarder  thrust  out  his  lower  jaw.  "  No,"  he  re 
turned.  "  It  was  not  good." 

"  Dat  vas  too  bad.  But  de  vetter ;  he  vas  nice,  vasn't 
he?" 

"  Beautiful,"  assented  Mr.  Campbell. 

Mrs.  Landvetter  sighed  with  relief.  She  had  paid  her 
mint  and  anise  and  cummin  to  Mrs.  Grundy.  "  Und," 
leaning  eagerly  forward  and  speaking  with  an  almost 

262 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

tremulous  jocularity,  "  und  haf  you  brought  all  mein 
laces  back,  or  haf  you  lost  dem?  " 

"  I  have  sold  them  a'." 

"Effery  piece?"  she  screamed  incredulously. 
"Effery  piece?" 

"  Every  piece,"  he  answered. 

"  Veil,  you  vas  a  goot  liddle  man.  Und  how  mooch 
did  dey  bring;  how  mooch?" 

"  Twenty-five  dollars." 

"  Twenty-five  dollars  ?  Mein  Gott,  you  vas  de  best 
effer ! "  hugging  herself  and  rocking  back  and  forth  in 
her  glee.  "  Twenty-five  dollars !  Und  now,"  with  out 
stretched,  visibly  itching  fingers,  "  v'ere  is  de  money?  " 

"  It's  a'  in  this  package."  He  slowly  unrolled  the 
paper  from  the  silk.  "  There  it  is !  " 

The  huge  German  woman  looked  at  him  for  a  mo 
ment  in  astonishment.  "  Vat  you  givin'  me,  Campbell?  " 
she  asked  roughly. 

He  still  smiled.  "  You  have  never  had  a  silk  dress  in 
your  life,"  his  words  tumbled  over  each  other  at  the 
thought  of  the  magnitude  of  the  joy  he  was  confer 
ring,  "  and  I  have  bought  you  one  with  the  money  I 
got  from  the  sale  of  your  laces." 

Mrs.  Landvetter  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  a 
purpling  face.  Then  she  sprang  at  him.  "  You  bought 
dat  silk  mit  my  money?  Den,  by  Gott,  I  break  your 
head ! "  She  rushed  toward  the  pile  of  wood  on  the 
hearth,  and  seizing  a  thick  stick,  struck  blindly  in  the 
air. 

But  Ethel,  lithe  and  quick,  had  sprung  from  her 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

seat  at  the  table,  picking  up  something  as  she  ran — 
something  that  gleamed  long  and  shining  in  her 
hand. 

"  Don't  you  touch  him,  or  I'll  kill  you ! "  she  threat 
ened,  catching  the  larger  woman  by  the  arm.  Her  face 
was  dead  white,  her  narrowed  eyes  glittered  like  a 
cat's,  her  gasping  voice  was  scarcely  audible.  "  You — 
it  ain't  the  first  time  I've  used  a  knife!  The  jury  has 
let  me  off  twice,  an'  they  would  again,  you  bet.  Drop 
that  stick,  I  tell  you !  Drop  it ! "  Then,  as  Mrs.  Land- 
vetter  wavered,  but  still  held  her  ground,  she  bent  the 
long  thin  blade  almost  double  and  let  it  snap  back  in 
the  older  woman's  face. 

The  mighty  Hun  recoiled,  but  still  snarling  and 
showing  her  fangs.  "  I  vant  my  money,"  she  muttered 
stubbornly ;  "  und,  by  Gott,  I  get  it  out  of  him ! " 

"  Yes,  I  know  you,  you  dirty  coward.  You'll  wait 
till  I'm  gone  and  then  take  it  out  of  him,  and  rattle 
him  so  that  he  won't  never  get  straight  again.  Well, 
you  won't  get  the  chance;  for  I'll  pay  you  your  old 
money  now.  I'll  take  the  silk  off  your  hands.  It  ain't 
the  first  time  I've  wore  silk,  by  a  long  sight !  " 

She  tore  open  her  gown  and  drew  a  chamois  bag  from 
her  bosom.  Unfastening  it,  she  counted  out  some  crum 
pled  bills  and  loose  silver.  "  There's  your  money,"  con 
temptuously  ;  "  twenty-five  dollars.  Put  it  down  in  your 
stocking  now.  Get  it  safe,  do ! " 

"  V'ere  you  get  it,  Ethel?  "  Mrs.  Landvetter  clutched 
the  money,  fawned  over  it,  and  yet  feared  to  hold  it. 

"  None  of  your  damn  business  where  I  got  it !  You 
264 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

drop  that  wood  and  go  on  out  to  your  washtubs !  "  She 
stamped  her  foot,  and  then,  seeing  the  other  hesitate, 
motioned  with  her  knife  toward  the  door.  "  Go  on,  I 
say!" 

As  Mrs.  Landvetter  closed  the  door  behind  her  Ethel 
threw  her  weapon  on  the  table  and  ran  to  old  Andrew 
Campbell,  who  crouched  upon  the  floor  close  to  the  wall, 
holding  his  grey  head  with  his  hands. 

"  Come,  come,"  she  crooned  brokenly ;  "  come  with 
Ethel." 

He  said  no  word,  but  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  arose 
feebly,  and  passively  let  her  lead  him  to  his  dark  little 
room  off  the  kitchen.  She  had  almost  to  lift  him  upon 
his  bunk,  and  then  she  knelt  beside  him,  spent  with  her 
fury,  shaken  with  hysterical  tears. 

At  last  he  turned  his  haggard  face  with  its  wild,  mis 
erable  eyes  to  hers.  "  I  do  not  care  if  she  shook  me," 
he  muttered  hoarsely ;  "  I  do  not  care  if  she  did  not 
like  the  silk.  But  I  cannot  forgive  her,  and  I  can  never 
pray  again,  and  I  cannot  enter  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven." 

"  But,"  Ethel  checked  her  sobs  to  soothe  him,  "  if 
you  don't  care  that  she  shook  you,  and  if  you  don't 
care  that  she  didn't  like  the  silk,  what  makes  you  feel 
so  bad?" 

"  Because,"  he  answered  with  solemn  anguish,  "  she 
lifted  a  great  stick  and  struck  my  Ruth;  and  I  can 
never  forgive  her."  His  words  trailed  as  he  lapsed  into 
despair. 

Ethel  was  bewildered  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a 
265 


dawning  comprehension  of  his  trouble,  she  looked  about 
her  helplessly.  There  seemed  no  way  in  which  she  could 
minister  to  this  mind  diseased. 

But  again  she  turned  her  perplexed,  despairing 
glance  toward  the  bed  where  Campbell  lay ;  and  as  she 
gazed  at  that  waif — conquered,  overwhelmed,  beaten  by 
life — the  light  of  love  shone  in  her  eyes  and  in  her 
sad,  pitying  smile. 

*'  Listen,  Mr.  Campbell,"  bending  above  him  and 
speaking  with  imperative,  tender  distinctness.  "  It 
wasn't  your  Ruth  who  got  hit.  It  was  me — just  only 
Ethel.  She  give  me  a  whack  across  the  arm,  and  you've 
got  us  mixed  up.  How  could  you?  Why,  your  Ruth 
stood  beside  you  all  the  time." 

He  half  raised  himself  in  the  bed,  new  hope  dawning 
in  his  eyes.  But  they  clouded  again  with  suspicion. 
His  trembling  hands  plucked  at  her  sleeve.  "  Let  me 
see,"  he  said,  "  where  she  struck  you." 

Her  lips  paled ;  then  she  lifted  her  head  with  a  reck 
less  laugh.  "  It  don't  show  yet,  dear ;  but  it  will  be  all 
black  and  blue  by  to-morrow.  You'll  see."  Smiling  ten 
derly  at  him,  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  to  the 
small,  narrow  window.  Leaning  her  head  against  the 
rough  sash,  she  looked  out  upon  the  grey  of  the  hills 
now  blurred  in  twilight.  Her  fair  hair  fell  about  her 
white  face,  her  scarlet  mouth  drooped  forlornly.  At 
last  she  turned,  and  with  the  instinctive  idea  of  seeking 
comfort  somewhere,  had  struggled  blindly,  almost  un 
consciously,  up  the  hill  to  Frances's  cabin. 

**  And,  oh,  Missjoner,"  she  wailed  with  a  hysterical, 
266 


"  Listen,  Mr.  Campbell"1 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

choking  catch  in  her  voice,  "  I  ain't  never  lied  nor 
stole  till  to-day.  No  matter  what  else  I've  done,  I've 
always  been  a  lady  that  way.  But,"  with  the  last  aban 
donment  of  despair,  "  I  guess  if  I  could  fall  so  low  as 
to  steal  what  I  collected  for  the  Army,  I  needn't  let  a 
little  thing  like  a  lie  stick  in  my  throat."  She  dropped 
her  face  in  her  hands.  "  I've  tried  to  raise  myself ;  I've 
tried  to  be  somebody — but  what's  the  use !  It  seems  like 
even  God  was  against  me." 

For  answer,  Frances  gathered  the  girl's  trembling, 
sob-racked  body  in  her  arms  and  held  her  closely, 
warmly  against  her  heart,  smoothing  back  the  hair  from 
the  damp  brow,  and  crooning  over  her  as  a  mother 
might  have  done,  murmuring  tender,  consoling  words. 
At  last,  when  Ethel  lay  against  her  quiet,  but  ex 
hausted,  she  placed  her  gently  in  a  chair  and  left  her 
for  a  moment,  to  return  presently  with  a  roll  of  bills  in 
her  hands. 

"  There,  Ethel,"  she  said,  "  is  twenty-five  dollars.  It 
is  yours.  The  Army  is  paid  back  now,  and  you  owe  it 
nothing.  You  owe  me  nothing  either,  for  you  have  given 
me  the  happiness  of  helping  you." 

Ethel's  dazed  eyes  lightened.  She  stretched  out  an 
eager  and  yet  hesitating  hand  toward  the  money;  and 
then  her  face  fell  again  into  its  woful  lines.  "  But  it 
don't  wipe  out  the  sin,"  she  cried ;  "  it  don't  wipe  out 
the  sin ! "  and  fell  again  into  her  wild  weeping. 

"  Listen !  Stop  crying !  Listen  to  me !  "  Frances's 
voice  was  imperative  now.  "  You  sinned  to  spare  Mr. 
Campbell  suffering.  You  sinned  because  you  couldn't 

267 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

stand  by  and  see  cruelty,  no  matter  what  the  cost  to 
yourself.  You  sinned  through  love,  Ethel,  and  those 
sins  are  quickly  forgiven,  blotted  out.  See  how  easily 
even  I  could  help  you.  Ah,  Ethel,  I  wonder  that  I  call 
them  sins  " — she  forgot  the  girl.  "  '  "Tis  man's  perdi 
tion  to  be  safe,'  "  her  thought  turning  to  her  beloved 
Emerson,  "  '  even  from  what  he  or  anyone  else  might 

call  sin — when  he  ought  to  forget  himself  wholly  ' " 

She  was  far  beyond  Ethel  now,  and  the  girl  plucked  at 
her  sleeve. 

"  But  I  backslid,"  she  persisted,  still  hysterically  self- 
accusing.  "  I  thought  I  was  redeemed;  and  I'm  just  as 
bad  as  ever.  I  went  for  Mrs.  Landvetter  with  a  knife. 
I  can't  understand  it.  I  thought  my  feet  was  planted 
on  a  rock,  and  I  slid  back  just  as  easy.  I  thought  I  was 
on  the  rock  so  solid  that  the  gates  of  Hell  couldn't 
prevail  against  me;  an'  I  slid  back  just  as  easy.  Oh,  I 
can't  understand  it !  " 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Frances  sadly ;  "  nor  any  of  us.  Come, 
Ethel,  you  must  stay  with  me  to-night  and  rest." 

It  was  not  a  difficult  matter  to  persuade  the  worn- 
out  girl  to  remain  with  her,  and  the  Missionary  quickly 
helped  her  to  undress,  soothing  and  comforting  her 
meanwhile  and  sitting  beside  her  until  Ethel  closed  her 
heavy  eyes  in  sleep. 

Then  with  swift,  light  movements,  Frances  gathered 
up  the  roses  she  had  torn  from  her  hair  and  bosom,  and 
which  lay,  scattered  and  fading  about  the  floor,  and 
carried  them  out  into  the  night. 

On  her  little  bridge,  with  the  cool  wind  blowing  about 

268 


CHAPTER     NINETEEN 

her,  she  buried  her  face  in  them  for  a  moment,  inhal 
ing,  in  one  deep  breath,  all  their  beauty  and  fragrance. 
"  I  do  not  understand  it  either,  Ethel,  how — we — can — 
slip — backward,"  she  murmured,  and  then  cast  the  roses 
into  the  shallow,  rushing  water  of  the  stream. 


269 


CHAPTER    TWENTY 

RS.  EVANS,  bearing  loaves  and  fishes,  and  accom 
panied  by  Mrs.  Thomas,  climbed  the  mountain  road  to 
Frances's  cabin.  Night  was  just  falling,  the  blackness 
beginning  to  be  spangled  with  stars. 

"  I  jus'  brought  a  loaf  of  salt-risin'  bread,  Mis- 
sioner,  I  baked  fresh  this  afternoon,  an'  some  lemon- 
jelly  cake.  Marthy's  a-carryin'  it.  Here,  Marthy,  put 
it  down  on  the  table." 

"  It's  sure  a  frosty  night,"  throwing  off  her  cape 
and  hood  and  accepting  the  chair  Frances  offered  her, 
tf  an*  it  looks  cosey  as  you  please  in  here.  Well,  Mis- 
sioner,"  with  importance,  "  Marthy  an'  me  took  a  little 
time  off  to  bring  you  the  news.  Sadie  Nitschkan's 
comin'  home  to-morrow.  Some  campers  that's  just  got 
in  brought  the  word  to  Jack." 

"  It's  been  six  weeks  an'  more  since  Jack  wrote  her, 
commandin'  her  to  come  back  the  minute  she  got  the 
letter,  an'  she  ain't  paid  no  more  attention  to  it  than 
if  he  was  catnip,"  announced  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  Well,  she's  goin'  to  get  her  lesson  now,"  Mrs.  Evans 
made  the  affirmation  complacently.  "  It  don't  always  do 
to  go  up  against  a  husband  when  his  blood's  up." 

"If  Jack'll  only  stay  firm."  Mrs.  Thomas's  tone 
seemed  to  imply  a  pessimistic  doubt  of  all  men. 

"  Of  course  he'll  stay  firm,"  the  tiny  woman  threw 

270 


CHAPTER     TWENTY 

the  Venus  Colossal  an  impatient  glance.  "  He's  got  the 
whole  of  us  backin'  him,  ain't  he?  'Course,  Missioner," 
explanatorily,  "  we  ain't  really  goin'  to  let  him  turn 
Sadie  out,  like  he  feels  like  now ;  but  he's  goin'  to  give 
her  a  good  scare.  She's  got  to  be  disciplined." 

"Well,  I  hope  she's  enjoyed  her  gipsyin',"  Mrs. 
Thomas  spoke  piously.  "  Say,  Missioner,  ain't  it  awful 
the  way  the  Pearl's  carry  in'  on  with  Bob  Flick?  Folks 
is  talkin'  somethin'  fierce.  There's  goin'  to  be  trouble 
sure."  Her  sparkling  eyes  expressed  a  relish  of  the 
dramatic  possibilities  in  the  situation.  "  Maybe,"  doubt- 
ingly,  "  Sadie  can  do  somethin'  with  the  Pearl  when 
she  comes  back;  but  it's  sure  that  no  one  else  can. 
Somebody's  goin'  to  tell  Shock,  sure  as  you're  alive, 
an'  everybody's  wondering  who  it'll  be.  Most  likely  one 
of  the  boys  '11  get  drunk  an'  think  it's  his  duty  to  speak 
up.  Oh,  it's  an  awful  thing !  "  virtuously.  "  Bob,  he's 
one  of  the  cold,  reckless  kind,  an'  the  Pearl,  she's  one 
of  the  hot,  reckless  kind.  Lord ! "  with  a  shiver  of 
pleasurable  anticipation,  "  I'm  scared." 

"  Yes,  it's  sure  awful,"  assented  Mrs.  Evans  absently. 
"  Come,  Marthy,"  rising,  "  we  got  to  go  home  an'  put 
the  kids  to  bed.  We  got  a  hard  day's  work  before  us 
to-morrow  with  Sadie,  an'  we'd  better  be  gettin'  a  good 
night's  rest." 

Frances  strolled  out  onto  her  little  bridge  with  her 
departing  guests.  The  night  was  like  black  velvet,  set 
thickly  with  the  cold  sparkle  of  stars.  It  seemed  but  a 
moment  after  her  visitors  made  their  last  adieux  that 
they  were  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom.  Yet  a  few  minutes 

271 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

later  she  was  surprised  to  hear  the  patter  of  Mrs. 
Evans's  feet  on  the  bridge. 

"  I — I  sent  Marthy  on,  Missioner,  an'  jus'  come  back 
for  a  second."  It  was  the  only  time  Frances  had  ever 
seen  the  assured  Mrs.  Evans  in  the  least  embarrassed. 
"  Missioner,"  even  in*  the  dim  light  her  cold  little  face 
showed  agitation.  "  Missioner,  I  wasn't  goin'  to  say  a 
word  to  you,  an*  I  made  Marthy  promise  not  to;  but 
there's  a  good  deal  of  talk — an'  the  bettin'  stands  even 
on  you  an'  the  English  girl.  You  know  the  folks  at 
Garvin'-s  went  away  to-day;  but  some  of  the  boys  is 
bettin'  that  Walt  won't  let  her  stay  long." 

"Betting!  On  me!  And  Miss  Sourrier? "  Frances 
faltered,  throwing  back  one  arm  and  clutching  the  rail 
for  support. 

For  once  Mrs.  Evans  forgot  her  diplomacy  and 
floundered  in  the  bog  of  explanation.  "  Yes,  as  to 
which'll  get — as  to  which  Walt  will — as  to  which  will 
take  Walt." 

Frances's  eyes  blazed.  Her  mouth  set  in  a  bitter 
smile.  It  was  with  evident  difficulty  that  she  main 
tained  her  self-control;  but  she  made  no  reply,  only 
stood  gazing  down  into  the  depths  of  the  noisy,  rushing 
stream. 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  Mrs.  Evans  stretched  out 
her  hand  and  laid  it  on  the  other  woman's  arm,  the  first 
demonstration  of  affection  Frances  had  ever  seen  her 
show  to  anyone. 

"  Missioner,"  earnestly,  "  I  know  it  ain't  nothin'  but 
gossip,  I  know  how  hard  you're  a-tryin'  to  save  his 

272 


CHAPTER     TWENTY 

soul "  ignoring  Frances's  protesting  hand.  "  Yes, 

I  do.  And  there  ain't  no  one  that  dares  do  any  talkin' 
to  me.  You  don't  know  what  you  mean  to  some  of  us, 
Missioner.  You  don't  know  what  a  comfort  you  are. 
You've  made  us  feel  like  we  can  always  turn  to  you  in 
any  of  our  troubles,  no  matter  how  fool  they  seem.  All 
our  lives  long,  us  women  have  been  taught  that  when 
things  bothered  us  too  much,  we  could  go  to  a  man  in 
a  black  coat  an'  a  white  choker,  an'  perhaps,  a  good 
many  of  us  found  out  that  was  all  there  was  to  his 
spirituality.  An'  often  as  not,  when  you'd  laid  out  your 
poor,  little  troubles  before  him,  lookin'  like  mountains 
to  you,  you  could  see,  for  all  he  tried  to  hide  it,  that 
they  was  just  about  the  size  of  marbles  to  him.  Then 
he'd  swell  out  his  chest,  an'  talk  pious  to  you  down  in 
his  throat,  an'  you  usual  went  home  feelin'  like  there 
was  no  comfort  nowheres,  'cause  'course  you'd  been 
taught  to  believe  that  God's  jus'  a  bigger  man,  an'  you 
felt  sore  at  your  heart  an'  like  you  wanted  to  kick  your 
self,  that  is,  if  you  was  strong.  If  you  was  a  weak  sis 
ter  an'  wanted  to  be  hectored,  you  took  his  words  for 
law  an'  gospel. 

"  Why,  look  here,  Missioner !  Suppose  you  was  a  man. 
Do  you  believe  the  trouble  between  me  an'  Sile  would 
ever  have  been  patched  up  yet  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  but  you 
handled  that  job  slick.  God  knows  you  did.  An'  ever 
since,  I  been  a-thinkin,  a  kind  o'  hopin',  a  'most  believin' 
that  it  was  a  woman  that  was  comin'  some  day  to  com 
fort  women.  Not  one  of  them  mushy  things  that  they 
call  all  heart,  an'  that  mourns  with  them  that  mourns, 

273 


THE    NEW    MISSIONER 

like  Marthy  Thomas ;  but  a  woman  with  a  head  as  well 
as  a  heart.  A  woman  that  knows  enough  to  understand 
things,  that's  had  her  experiences  and  knows  where  she 
is  at;  that  don't  stand  willing  to  cut  the  work  she's 
chose,  for  the  first  man  that  looks  at  her.  Not  that  kind ; 
but  a  woman  that's  onto  things.  Missioner,  you  don't 
think  I'm  too  fresh,  do  you?  "  taking  alarm  at  Frances's 
continued  silence.  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  no  smart  Aleck. 
I  oughtn't  to  have  told  you  about  that  bettin'." 

Mrs.  Evans  to  plead!  It  smote  Frances  like  a  blow. 
"  I  should  think,"  she  murmured  in  a  muffled  voice, 

"  I  should  think  that  my  calling "  she  stopped 

abruptly,  too  honest  not  to  see  the  irony  of  claiming 
protection  from  her  calling,  when  she  gave  free  rein  to 
conduct. 

"  But  you  ain't  mad,  Missioner?  You  forgive  my 
speakin'  ?  " 

"  Forgive !  "  The  shadow  of  a  smile  deepened  the  pain 
of  Frances's  eyes.  "  Perhaps  you  are  my  best  friend. 
Perhaps  in  all  the  world  you  are  my  best  friend." 

A  little  later  when  Garvin  strode  up  the  hillside,  his 
heart  singing  the  words  he  meant  that  his  lips  should 
soon  utter — "  They've  gone,  Missioner.  Thank  God 
they've  gone !  " — he  was  surprised  and  immeasurably  dis 
appointed  to  find  the  windows  of  the  little  cabin  dark. 
Half-heartedly,  he  knocked  once  or  twice  upon  the  door 
and  then  turned  dejectedly  away.  Yet,  had  he  but  known 
it,  each  rap  had  vibrated  through  the  heart  of  the  Mis 
sionary,  who  crouched  inside,  her  hand  upon  the  latch, 
ceaselessly  and  speechlessly  murmuring :  "  A  woman 

274 


CHAPTER     TWENTY 

that  don't  stand  willing  to  cut  the  work  she's  chose  for 
the  first  man  that  looks  at  her." 

It  was  dawn  before,  still  dressed,  she  threw  herself 
upon  her  cot  and  almost  immediately  fell  into  the  deep 
sleep  of  exhaustion.  But  if  she  continued  to  sleep  far 
into  the  next  morning,  the  village  was  early  astir,  for 
Zenith  was  of  course  aware  of  the  stand  Mr.  Nitschkan 
had  taken,  and  was  fully  determined  to  see  the  result  of 
the  impending  struggle  for  supremacy ;  even  though 
discretion  urged  to  view  it  from  a  safe  seclusion. 

There  were  some  souls  of  excitable  imagination  who 
predicted  the  complete  demolishment  of  the  Nitschkan 
home  before  the  argument  was  satisfactorily  concluded. 
But  the  public  was  doomed  to  disappointment  in  the 
first  instance  as  to  any  show  of  spectacular  demonstra 
tion  on  Mr.  Nitschkan's  part. 

Carolling  blithely  and  with  no  apparent  premonition 
of  trouble,  Mrs.  Nitschkan  arrived  at  her  gate.  Bob 
with  nimble  fingers  untied  the  frayed  rope  which  held  in 
place  that  frail  portal,  and  his  mother,  leading  the 
burros,  passed  through.  No  welcoming  shouts  of  chil 
dren  greeted  her;  but  the  smoke  curling  whitely  from 
the  chimney,  and  the  unshuttered  windows,  proclaimed 
the  house  inhabited.  Otherwise  there  was  no  sign  of  life. 

Within  the  kitchen,  however,  was  a  hastily  assembled 
council,  consisting  of  Mrs.  Evans,  Mrs.  Thomas  and 
Mrs.  Landvetter.  They  sat  about  the  stove,  whereon 
hissed  a  coffeepot,  while  Mr.  Nitschkan  strode  restlessly 
about  the  room.  Mrs.  Evans,  who,  in  common  with  the 
other  women,  appeared  slightly  paler  than  usual,  with 

275 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

a  somewhat  strained  expression  about  the  eyes,  was  just 
about  to  pour  herself  a  cup  of  coffee,  when  there  came 
a  thunderous  knocking  upon  the  door,  causing  her  hand 
to  shake  so  violently  that  she  spilled  half  the  contents 
of  the  pot  on  the  floor. 

"  Now,  Jack,"  she  cautioned,  as  Mr.  Nitschkan  stood 
irresolute,  "  remember,  you  got  to  be  firm.  Give  her  a 
good  fright  an'  make  her  promise  there  shan't  be  no 
more  gipsyin'  in  hers  'fore  you  let  her  in." 

"  At  least  till  the  kids  is  old  enough  to  go  with  her," 
added  Mrs.  Thomas  sotto  voce. 

Nitschkan  approached  the  window  and  pulling  down 
the  small,  upper  sash,  leaned  his  elbows  upon  it  and 
thrust  out  his  bearded  face. 

"  Hello,  Jack,"  called  his  wife  cheerily,  "  the  door's 
stuck.  Pull  it  open  f er  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  The  door  ain't  stuck,  Sadie,"  remarked  Mr.  Nitsch 
kan,  with  solemn  severity ;  "  it's  locked,  an'  it's  locked 
a-purpose." 

"  Locked  a-purpose ! "  echoed  Sadie,  pausing  in  her 
efforts  to  enter  and  peering  at  him  as  if  she  doubted 
the  evidence  of  her  senses.  "  Well,  it  had  better  get  un 
locked  mighty  quick  then,  'fore  I  sail  in.  That's  all  I 
got  to  say." 

"  Be  firm,  Jack,  you're  a-doin'  splendid,"  encouraged 
Mrs.  Evans. 

"  It'll  stay  locked,"  repeated  Mr.  Nitschkan  slowly 
and  impressively,  "  until  you  promise  me  that  onct  an' 
f  er  all  you're  done  with  this  gipsyin'  that's  made  you  the 
talk  of  the  camp." 

276 


CHAPTER     TWENTY 

Mrs.  Nitschkan  turned  suddenly  and  gazed  at  her 
lord  and  master,  with  shrewd  and  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Who's  in  there  with  you  Jack?  "  she  asked  quickly. 
"Effie  Evans  an'  Marthy  Thomas,  I'll  bet  my 
head." 

Nitschkan  ignored  the  question,  and  scowled  darkly 
at  the  blue  ridges  of  the  mountains  beyond  him. 

His  wife  laughed  uproariously.  "  Oh,  Effie  Evans !  " 
she  called  breezily  through  the  keyhole.  "  Wait  till  you 
want  help  in  some  little  game,  an'  then  see  where  you're 
at!  Is  old  fat  pillow  of  a  Landvetter  in  there,  too? 
'Course ;  I  kin  smell  the  coffee.  An'  dear  little  Marthy ! " 
she  lisped  affectedly.  "  Here  Bob,  boy !  "  turning  to  her 
son,  "  get  the  axe  offen  Jerry  an'  Mommie'll  break  the 
door." 

Mr.  Nitschkan  turned  apprehensively  to  the  council 
about  the  stove. 

"  Tell  her,"  commanded  Mrs.  Evans,  with  a  pale 
smile  of  triumph,  "  that  if  she  does,  it'll  be  the  winter 
talk  in  the  camp,  how  you  turned  her  out.  Stand  pat 
now,  Jack,  an'  you've  got  her." 

"Folks  won't  be  talkin'  of  nothin'  else  all  winter, 
Sadie,  if  you  break  that  door  in,"  admonished  her  hus 
band,  returning  to  the  window.  "  They'll  say  I  turned 
you  off." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  acquiesced  Sadie,  pausing  in 
her  operations.  This  sweet  reasonableness  on  her  part 
caused  the  ladies  about  the  stove  to  exchange  alarmed 
glances.  "  Well,  Bob,"  with  what  was  apparently  a  sigh 
of  capitulation,  "  I  guess  there  ain't  nothin'  fer  you 

277 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

an'  me  to  do  but  camp  in  the  yard.  Get  to  work  an' 
we'll  unload  the  burros." 

"  Come  away  from  that  window,  Jack,  an'  don't  take 
no  notice  of  her,"  adjured  Mrs.  Evans,  who  had  watched 
with  growing  uneasiness  Nitschkan's  increasing  interest 
in  the  unpacking  going  on  without. 

But  he  was  deaf  to  admonitions.  "  Lord !  she's  got  a 
good  bear's  skin,  an'  some  mighty  nice  lookin'  venison." 

"  Ain't  that  jus'  like  a  man,  an'  after  all  we  done 
f  er  him,  too ! "  Mrs.  Thomas  sunk  her  voice  to  a  dis 
gusted  whisper.  "  We  jus'  got  to  get  him  away  from 
there." 

"Jack,  remember  what  you  been  through,"  she 
pleaded,  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  I  sure  got  to  show  her  I'm  master  here,"  he  said 
firmly,  but  as  though  repeating  a  lesson  which  had  lost 
its  first,  fresh  significance.  "  That's  what  I  got  to  do." 

"  You  bet  you  have,  Jack,"  urged  the  ladies. 

"  Oh,  Jack,  Jack,"  called  Sadie's  voice  outside.  "  I 
seen  the  Weeks  boys  in  North  Park  an'  they  told  me  how 
they  got  eren  at  last  with  the  Thompson  tribe.  It  would 
make  a  kiote  laugh  to  hear  tell  of  it." 

A  slow  grin  overspread  Mr.  Nitschkan's  face.  "  Did 
you  hear  that  ?  "  he  asked  the  council.  "  The  Weekses 
have  got  even  at  last  with  them  Thompsons.  Gosh!  I'd 
like  to  know  how !  " 

"  Say,  Jack,  come  to  the  window  and  see  this  mess 
of  trout.  Bob,  boy,  build  Mommie  a  fire,  an'  she'll  get 
some  of  'em  ready  now.  Here ! "  The  rollicking,  con 
tagious  laughter  echoed  without,  as  she  held  up  a  fish 

278 


CHAPTER     TWENTY 

for  her  husband's  inspection.  The  sunlight  fell  upon 
its  speckled  sides,  and  as  Sadie  drew  out  the  sedgy  grass 
with  which  it  was  stuffed,  Nitschkan  sighed  audibly: 

"  Nice,  fresh  trout,  an'  Sadie  kin  fry  'em  to  a  turn," 
he  muttered  wistfully. 

"  Now,  Jack,  you  want  to  be  firm,"  reminded  Mrs. 
Thomas.  "  You  don't  want  to  be  led  away  from  your 
duty  by  no  such  vanities  as  trout  an'  venison." 

Deaf  to  her  words,  he  edged  nearer  the  window. 
"  She's  got  somethin'  in  a  handkercher,"  in  a  tense 
whisper. 

Seductively  near  drew  Mrs.  Nitschkan. 

"  Jack,  Jack,"  holding  up  some  objects  tied  in  a  red 
bandana  handkerchief.  "  Oh,  Jack ! "  she  teased. 
"  You'd  give  them  pop  eyes  of  yourn  to  know  what  I 
got  in  here.  Look," — untying  the  knots  of  the  hand 
kerchief  and  holding  up  three  or  four  gleaming  nug 
gets  in  her  hand, — "  what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  Free 
gold,  Jack,  free  gold!  An'  this  nice  little  piece  of 
peacock ! " 

Mr.  Nitschkan  breathed  hard.  "Who  passed  'em 
along  to  you,  Sadie  ?  "  he  asked  with  an  attempt  at 
carelessness. 

"  OP  Mr.  Rock  give  'em  to  me,"  she  laughed.  "  I 
staked  out  a  nice  little  claim  or  so,  Jack,  an'  posted  my 
notice  all  right,  you  bet." 

"  Hand  'em  up,  Sadie,  to  let  me  see,"  Nitschkan 
stretched  out  itching  figers,  "  or  wait — wait  till  I  unbar 
the  door." 

He  tore  at  the  lock.  "  Come  on  in,  Sadie,"  as  the 
279 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

door  swung  back.  "  The — the  girls  " — becoming  aware 
of  his  advisers  in  the  background — "  the  girls  is  here 
to  welcome  you."  Then  he  fled. 

Cornered,  routed,  but  defiant,  the  council  stood.  The 
guard  might  die ;  but  there  was  "  no  surrender  "  writ 
ten  on  every  line  of  the  firm  little  face  of  Mrs.  Evans 
as  she  stood  with  folded  arms,  facing  her  friend. 

Mrs.  Landvetter,  glancing  up  from  the  depths  of  her 
rocking  chair,  went  on  with  her  knitting ;  Mrs.  Thomas, 
on  the  contrary,  bustled  about  with  a  busy  show  of 
occupation. 

"  I'll  pour  you  a  steamin'  cup  of  coffee  this  minute, 
Sadie.  Mis'  Landvetter,  will  you  pass  me  the  cream 
jug,"  she  babbled,  and  then  encountering  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan's  glance,  she  sank  down  upon  a  stool  and  began  to 
weep. 

The  mountain  woman  stood  in  the  doorway,  her  head 
lowered,  her  right  arm  with  its  tightened  fist  swinging 
back  and  forth  by  her  side.  All  the  easy  good  nature 
had  vanished  from  her  face. 

"Where's  my  kids,  Effie  Evans?"  Her  voice  was 
hoarse. 

"  They're  to  my  house,  Sadie  Nitschkan,"  laconic 
ally,  coolly. 

"What  fer?"  like  the  shot  of  a  pistol. 

"  To  keep  'em  out  of  the  way  while  we  got  Jack  to 
scare  you  a  spell." 

The  pathos  of  a  betrayed  trust  was  in  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan's  eyes.  "  I'm  a-goin'  to  drive  you  all  outen  here 
in  about  a  minute,"  slowly  rolling  up  her  sleeves,  "  with 

280 


CHAPTER     TWENTY 

some  marks  on  you  that  you  didn't  have  when  you 
come;  but  first,  I'm  going  to  know  what  you  done  it 
for.  You  an'  me,  Effie  Evans,  has  hung  together  for 
ten  years.  Your  wits  and  my  fists  has  made  us  the 
leaders  of  society  in  Zenith,  an'  up  to  a  minute  ago 
I'd  'a'  done  up  anybody  that'd  say  you  wasn't  a  white 
woman." 

The  tiny  beads  of  sweat  were  standing  out  on  Mrs. 
Evans's  brow;  but  her  eyes  never  wavered  from  the 
other  woman's  face. 

"  I  couldn't  stand  your  kids,  Sadie  Nitschkan ;  two 
months  an'  more  of  'em  has  drove  me  wild !  " 

"  My  kids !  "  with  infinite  surprise.  "  Why,  they's 
no  better  behaved  young  ones  anywhere." 

Mrs.  Thomas  suddenly  ceased  her  convulsive  sobbing. 
"  Supposin',  Sadie  Nitschkan,"  she  cried.  "  Supposin' 
you  had  to  look  after  Mis'  Evans's,  or  Mis'  Landvetter's 
kids  fer  two  or  three  months?  " 

A  faint  smile  twinkled  in  Mrs.  Nitschkan's  eyes. 
"  Oh,  Marthy,"  she  mocked,  "  ask  me  somep'n  easy. 
Why,  I'd  'a'  broke  their  heads,  that's  what  I'd  'a'  done. 
But  say,  my  children  wasn't  that  bad  ?  Speak  up,  Land- 
vetter ;  they  wasn't  as  bad  as  the  Thomas  or  Evans  kids 
now,  was  they?  " 

"  Dey  vas  vorse,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Landvetter.  "  Ten 
t'ousand  times  vorse  as  de  Thomases  or  Effenses.  Mein 
vas  goot." 

Mrs.  Nitschkan  fell  against  the  door,  the  tears  trick 
ling  down  her  cheeks,  her  laughter  ringing  through  the 
cabin.  "It's  all  right,  girls,"  buoyantly,  boisterously, 

281 


THE     NEW    MISSIONER 

and  accepting  the  olive  branch  of  a  cup  of  tea  which 
Mrs.  Thomas  made  haste  to  offer.  "We'll  let  bygones 
be  bygones." 

Then  with  the  elaborate  courtesy  usual  from  the  vic 
torious  general  to  his  defeated  opponents :  "  You  girls 
must  V  done  slick  work  to  get  Jack  to  act  like  he  done ; 
but  where  you  slipped  up,  women  dear,  was  in  miscal- 
culatin'  the  heart  of  man." 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE 

M  RS.  NITSCHKAN  spent  the  entire  day  after  her 
return  in  various  household  activities ;  but  toward 
evening  she  decided  to  call  upon  the  Black  Pearl,  who 
for  some  reason  had  not  been  among  those  to  bid  her 
welcome  during  the  day.  So,  her  curiosity  aroused,  she 
betook  herself  to  the  O'Brien  cottage  soon  after  supper. 

Involuntarily  she  paused  at  the  gate,  struck  by  some 
thing  indescribably  neglected  and  forlorn  in  the  air  of 
the  whole  place.  The  flowers  drooped  dustily  in  the  gar 
den;  the  door,  usually  so  hospitably  open,  was  barred; 
the  blinds  were  drawn  before  the  closed  windows. 

The  gipsy  considered  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
curiosity  getting  the  better  of  her,  she  unlatched 
the  little  white  gate  and  walked  up  the  path  with  its 
glaring,  scentless  border  of  scarlet  geraniums  and  yel 
low  zinnias.  She  knocked  loudly  once  or  twice,  and  fail 
ing  to  elicit  an  answer,  forced  an  entrance  at  the  kitchen 
door.  Here  a  sight  met  her  eyes  which  caused  her  to 
raise  her  hands  with  a  loud  "  Gosh  a'mighty ! " 

The  room  was  in  appalling  disorder.  A  cloth  had 
been  half  dragged  from  the  table  scattered  with  food, 
while  the  floor  was  covered  with  pots,  pans  and  broken 
dishes.  After  one  comprehensive  glance,  Mrs.  Nitsch- 
kan  made  her  way  to  an  inner  room.  There  she  stood 
on  the  threshold  peering  about  her  until  her  eyes  became 

283 


accustomed  to  the  darkness.  Then  she  dimly  discerned 
a  black,  huddled  shape  on  the  bed,  and  her  gaze  was 
caught  and  held  by  the  smouldering,  sullen  fire  of  two 
dark  eyes. 

"  Pearl  ?  "  she  asked  uncertainly. 

The  woman  on  the  bed  did  not  answer,  only  gazed  at 
her  in  silence. 

"  Pearl,  air  you  sick?  " 

No  answer. 

Mrs.  Nitschkan  threw  the  windows  wide,  and  then 
bent  over  her  friend. 

"Now,  Pearl,  you  speak  up.  What's  the  matter? 
Air  you  sick?  " 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to  kill  him,"  whispered  the  woman  on 
the  bed.  "  He  beat  me  last  night,  an'  he  wasn't  jealous. 
He  come  home  with  all  the  devils  in  hell  in  his  face. 
When  I  set  him  out  his  supper  he  threw  the  vittles  all 
over  the  place,  an'  said  it  wasn't  fit  f er  dogs  to  eat ;  an' 
then  he  beat  me." 

"  Gosh  a'mighty !  An'  you  the  best  cook  in  the 
camp !  He  must  'a'  been  crazy  drunk,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Nitschkan  indignantly. 

"  He  wasn't  drunk  an'  he  wasn't  jealous.  He  wasn't 
jealous,  an'  he  beat  me,  me,"  she  raised  herself  with 
difficulty  in  the  bed,  and  lifted  her  stag-like  head 
superbly. 

"  Air  you  hurt,  Pearl  ?  "  anxiously. 

"  Am  I  hurt?  Am  I  hurt?  Oh,  that  a-way.  Yes,  I 
guess  so.  Come  to  think  of  it,  there  ain't  a  inch  on  me 
that  don't  ache.  I  guess  none  of  my  bones  is  broke, 

284 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-ONE 

though.  But  he'll  get  it."  She  half  drew  her  hand  from 
under  the  pillow,  disclosing  the  sharp,  keen  edge  of 
steel.  "  That's  the  medicine  he's  a-goin'  to  get.  I'm 
a-goin'  to  knife  him,  sure." 

"  Now,  Pearl/'  remonstrated  Mrs.  Nitschkan 
severely,  "  that  ain't  no  way  to  talk.  You're  all  right 
to  get  even  with  him,  but  you  mustn't  forget  a  thing 
or  two.  Us  ladies  here  in  Zenith  has  overlooked  your 
past  'cause  you're  a  decent  married  woman  now,  with  a 
ring  on  your  finger,  an'  a  certificate  framed  on  the 
wall.  Now  you  go  to  knifin'  him  an'  it'll  be  a  disgrace 
to  the  whole  camp.  What  I  say,  an'  what  I  always  says 
in  such  cases  is,  '  get  even  with  him,  an'  get  even  with 
him  good;  but  for  the  Lord's  sake,  do  it  ladylike.' 
Heave  skillets  an'  stove  lids  at  him  all  you're  a  mind  to ; 
but  throw  that  knife  away." 

The  Pearl  looked  at  her  a  moment  or  two  with 
sullen,  contemptuous  eyes.  "  Shut  up,"  she  commanded, 
"  I'm  tired  of  hearin'  you  talk." 

"  Here,  here,"  admonished  Mrs.  Nitschkan.  "  Now 
I'll  hustle  around  and  make  you  a  good,  strong  cup  of 
coffee.  There's  nothin'  like  it  fer  soul  an'  body.  You'll 
feel  better  then.  Then  we'll  get  your  clothes  off,  an'  a 
nightgown  on,  an'  we'll  see  where  you're  hurted." 

"Where  I'm  hurted?"  repeated  Pearl,  her  vague 
eyes  more  veiled,  more  tragically  mysterious  than  ever. 
"  I'm  hurted  so  deep  that  you  can't  find  it,  Sadie 
Nitschkan." 

"Aw,  come  now,  we'll  have  you  all  right  in  a  jiffy, 
an'  Shock  a-hangin'  'round  cryin'  over  you,  an'  beatin' 

285 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

his  chest  in  that  crazy  French  way  of  his'n.  Now  you 
lay  still  an'  I'll  heat  up  some  water." 

She  bustled  about  making  a  fire,  preparing  coffee 
and  putting  the  place  in  order,  when  her  attention  was 
suddenly  arrested  by  the  sound  of  flying  footsteps  on 
the  path  outside.  Then  a  thunderous  knocking,  and  be 
fore  she  could  reach  the  door,  it  was  burst  open,  and 
a  white-faced  boy  stuttered  on  the  threshold :  "  Mis' 
O'Brien,  Mis'  O'Brien,  Bob  Flick's  shot  Shock  up  at 
Johnson's  an'  he  wants  you  quick." 

The  Pearl  had  leaped  to  her  feet,  casting  her  knife 
from  her,  and  before  Sadie  Nitschkan  could  reach  her 
she  was  flying  up  the  mountain  road. 

A  tiny  crescent  moon  was  swinging  far  up  in  the  pale 
sky.  On  the  platform  before  the  saloon  was  a  black 
group  of  men,  who  made  way  for  the  Pearl  as  she  darted 
through  them.  The  doctor  was  bending  over  Jacques, 
who  lay  in  an  open  space  where  the  air  might  reach  him. 
The  Pearl  dropped  beside  him,  her  face  to  his  for  a 
moment,  and  then  she  lifted  him  to  her  heart. 

"  Shock,  Shock,"  she  moaned. 

"  Pearl,"  he  whispered,  his  accent  more  marked  than 
ever,  "  it  wasn't  the  vittles.  I  heard  straight  that  Flick 
was  after  you,  an'  I  was  jealous  mad.  I  tried  to  get  him 
first ;  but  he  pulled  his  gun  too  quick  for  me." 

"  Oh,  Shock !  I  never  cared  for  nobody  really  but 
you." 

A  faint  reflection  of  his  charming  smile  flickered  over 
his  face.  "  I  know  it,"  he  said.  "  You — you  always 
talked  about  being  free,  Pearl.  I  guess  you're  free  at 

286 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-ONE 

last."  He  smiled  again  and  then  lay  heavily  on  her 
heart. 

For  a  moment  while  she  held  him  closely  to  her  breast, 
her  eyes  showed  some  ecstatic  illumination,  as  if  she  had 
followed  him  to  the  vast  and  illimitable  spaces  her 
spirit  craved.  Then  the  shackles  of  that  desolate  sem 
blance  of  reality  which  she  knew  as  life  fell  about  her 
again. 

"  Free ! "  she  cried  in  the  voice  of  one  who  faces  the 
terrible  nemesis  of  a  granted  desire.  "  Free ! "  her 
anguished  eyes  challenged  the  grave  group  of  men 
about  her.  "  There  ain't  no  such  damned  word  fer  a 
woman  that  kin  love." 


287 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-TWO 

lYlADE  aware  of  the  tragedy  which  had  occurred  in 
the  village  by  various  swift-footed  messengers,  who 
showed  the  usual  alacrity  of  swift-footed  messengers  in 
purveying  evil  tidings,  Frances  had  twice  during  the 
night  been  to  the  O'Brien  cottage ;  but  the  Black  Pearl 
had  persistently  refused  to  see  her,  and  had  had  conveyed 
to  her  in  no  uncertain  terms  that  she  had  no  desire  to 
profit  by  any  of  the  stock  of  comfort  or  consolation 
that  Frances,  or  any  other  spiritual  adviser  might  have 
on  hand. 

The  following  morning  the  Missionary  sat  in  her 
doorway,  her  head  bent  over  some  sewing  and  her  face 
sad  and  troubled.  The  circumstance  of  O'Brien's  death 
had  shocked  her  indescribably  and  it  continued  to 
occupy  her  thoughts  to  such  an  extent  that  she  was 
almost  oblivious  of  Angel,  who  had  paid  Frances  one  of 
her  rare  visits  that  morning,  and,  after  a  cursory  and 
indifferent  survey  of  the  cabin  and  its  occupant,  had 
betaken  herself  to  a  tree,  and  now  sat  perched  on  a 
bough  of  one  of  the  quivering  aspens  near  the  door. 
The  golden  leaves  fluttered  restlessly  about  her  or 
floated  dreamily  through  the  sun-warmed  November  air. 

A  sad-faced  monkey  with  the  world-weariness  of  ages 
in  its  eyes,  gibbered  and  chattered  on  a  branch  above 
her  or  occupied  itself  sufficiently  in  frightening,  with 

288 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-TWO 

sly  malice,  the  bluejays  and  magpies  which  exchanged 
raucous  comments  on  its  behaviour. 

Presently  Angel  slid  down  the  tree  to  the  infinite 
detriment  of  her  frock,  a  consideration  which  never 
suggested  itself  to  her,  and  seated  herself  beside 
Frances,  as  if,  for  once  in  a  way,  she  felt  the  need  of 
human  companionship.  This  was  somewhat  surprising, 
as,  being  a  person  of  infinite  resource  herself,  she  de 
pended  on  no  one  for  entertainment  or  amusement. 

"  I'd  rather  hear  squirrels  and  birds  talk  dan  people," 
she  finally  announced. 

"  Squirrels  and  birds  can't  talk,"  said  Frances 
abstractedly. 

"  Dey  can  too,"  affirmed  Angel,  with  placid  assur 
ance.  "  Dat's  all  you  know.  Dey  tell  me  funny  things. 
So  do  Hurry-Scurry,"  pointing  to  her  monkey.  She  ap 
peared  to  meditate  a  few  moments.  "  I  went  into  the 
woods  an'  heard  Mis'  O'Brien  talk.  She  talks  sis  way: 
'  I'm  awful  sorry,  honest  I  am,  Bob ;  but  I  couldn't 
go.'" 

Frances  could  not  repress  the  start  which  was  involun 
tary  with  her,  at  any  of  Angel's  impersonations,  they 
were  so  curiously  life-like.  You  had  but  to  shut  your 
eyes  to  see  the  Black  Pearl  standing  before  you;  for 
her  soft,  sliding  voice  was  very  perfectly  reproduced 
by  the  child. 

Angel,  flattered  as  ever  by  spontaneous  appreciation, 
whenever  she  chose  to  exhibit  her  gifts,  prepared  to 
further  dazzle  her  audience.  "  An'  Bob  Flick  say  sis 
way: 

289 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

"  *  I  always  wanted  you,  Pearl.  I'd  a  stole  an'  lied, 
an'  fought  for  you,  too.  See?  Will  you  come  down  the 
trail  wif  me  next  Thursday  ?  ' : 

"  I  told  Herries,  an'  he  laughed  sis  way :  *  Ho,  ho, 
ho!"' 

Herries's  harsh  laughter,  more  bitter,  more  sardonic 
than  ever,  rang  from  her  lips. 

Frances  shivered.  "  Don't,  Angel,"  she  cried  sharply. 
"  It  sounds  horrible.  Where  did  you  hear  such  gibber 
ish?  Has  someone  been  teaching  you  a  play?" 

But  Angel  only  smiled  after  her  own  inscrutable 
fashion,  and  dragging  White  Puppy  toward  her,  began 
to  instruct  him  in  the  painful  act  of  standing  on  his 
hind  legs. 

From  time  to  time  during  the  day,  the  child's  words 
recurred  to  Frances  and  she  found  herself  pondering 
over  them,  vaguely  troubled  and  distressed  by  them,  and 
yet,  failing  to  attach  any  definite  meaning  to  Angel's 
disjointed  phrases. 

In  the  afternoon  Carrothers  stopped  at  the  cabin 
door.  He  spoke  at  once  of  the  village  tragedy,  and 
seemed  rather  troubled  over  it  in  a  vague  and  indecisive 
way,  and  at  the  same  time  rather  self-congratulatory  in 
an  equally  vague  and  indecisive  way  that  he  was  not 
of  that  breed  of  men  to  whom  violent  passions  brought 
violent  reckonings. 

"  Have  you  been  able  to  see  our  sister — I  mean  the 
erring  woman  who  is  responsible  for  this  tragedy?  "  he 
asked  Frances. 

"  No."  She  shook  her  head. 
290 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-TWO 

"  I  have,"  importance  and  resentment  struggling  for 
mastery.  "  She  is  more  hardened  than  I  could  have  be 
lieved."  A  flush  rose  on  his  cheek.  "  I — I  was  treated 
with  contumely." 

Frances's  lips  curved  in  a  faint,  ironic  smile.  She 
could  well  imagine  it. 

"  It's  a  solemn  thing  to  think  of  the  state  of  such 
souls."  But  his  tone  was  mollified;  the  swift  vision  of 
retribution  was  evidently  comforting.  "  And,  oh,  Mis- 
sioner,  I  saw  Mr.  Herries  a  few  moments  this  afternoon 
and  was  struck  by  his  manner  and  appearance.  What 
ails  him?  " 

"  Mr.  Herries  ?  "  Frances  lifted  her  head  quickly. 
"  Is  he  ill  ?  Why,  he  would  surely  have  let  me  know ! " 

"  He  didn't  seem  ill,"  explained  Carrothers  conscien 
tiously.  "  He  seemed  to  be  labouring  with  some  distress 
of  mind  which  he  tried,  I  thought,  to  hide  from  me." 

Frances  rolled  up  her  work.  "  I  think,  if  you  will 
excuse  me,"  she  said,  rising,  "  I  will  go  up  to  his  cabin 
and  see  is  he  ill  or  in  trouble.  He  may  need  me — or, 
wait " 

She  ran  inside  and  fetched  the  little  whistle  which 
Herries  had  given  her  long  ago.  Twice  she  blew  on  it, 
and  then,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  peered  curi 
ously  up  the  trail  to  the  old  Scotchman's  cabin ;  but  he 
did  not  appear  in  the  doorway  and  hasten  down  the  hill 
as  was  his  wont  when  she  thus  summoned  him. 

Really  worried  now,  she  lost  no  time  in  climbing  the 
hill  to  his  hut.  The  door  stood  open,  swinging  back  and 
forth  on  its  hinges.  Within,  the  room  was  disorderly; 

291 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

the  fire  out  in  the  stove,  and  there  were  no  traces  of  any 
food  having  been  prepared  that  day. 

Frances,  feeling  more  puzzled  than  ever,  pencilled  a 
little  note  and  leaving  it  on  the  table,  closed  the  door 
behind  her  and  retraced  her  steps  homeward.  There 
seemed,  for  the  moment,  nothing  else  to  do;  but  she 
could  not  rid  herself  of  the  feeling  of  apprehension  and 
worry;  and  when  Garvin  sat  in  her  little  living  room 
that  evening  she  confided  her  feeling  to  him.  He  attrib 
uted  this  entirely  to  the  shock  she  had  suffered  the 
night  before,  and  its  corresponding  effect  on  her  nerves. 

"  The  old  man  is  all  right,"  he  assured  her,  "  but 
I  will  go  up  to  his  shanty  after  I  leave  you,  and  if  he  is 
not  there,  I  will  either  look  him  up  myself  or  have  some 
one  else  do  so.  There,  will  that  satisfy  you  ?  Believe  me, 
nothing  can  happen  to  Herries." 

"  I  know  I'm  foolish,"  she  said  deprecatingly, 
"  but " 

"  Ah,  Missioner,"  he  besought,  using  that  term  as 
playfully  as  always,  and  yet  speaking  with  real  earnest 
ness,  "  forget  Herries,  forget  this  ugly  affair  of  the 
O'Briens,  forget  all  these  people  who  come  and  make 
demands  on  you,  and  give  me  this  evening.  Think  only 
of  me  and  of  yourself." 

She  smiled  at  him,  that  delightful  smile  which  al 
ways  struck  one  afresh  with  its  tenderness  and  charm. 

"  You  have  been  hard  on  me  since  my  friends  went 
away,"  drawing  his  chair  near  to  her  and  taking  her 
hands  closely  in  his.  "  You  have  scarcely  given  me  a 
minute,  and  you're  always  ready  to  give  any  old  tramp 

292 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-TWO 

that  wants  it,  all  the  minutes  he  or  she  may  ask;  and 
no  one  craves  your  minutes  as  I  do,  Frances,  or  prizes 
them  half  so  much."  His  voice  fell  into  deep  and  tender 
intonations.  "  Ah,  Frances,  I  never  knew  any  woman 
like  you — I've  always  known  the  other  kind — and  a  new 
life  has  begun  for  me.  Why,  life,  my  life,  that  I  thought 
about  lived,  is  new  and  fresh  through  my  love  for  you. 
I  can't  understand  it.  It's  the  most  wonderful  trans 
forming  and  renewing  of  energy  that  ever  happened. 
A  few  months  ago  I  was  tired,  cynical;  life  was  half, 
or  perhaps  more  than  half  lived,  and  it  did  not  matter, 
for  it  held  nothing  that  I  really  cared  for.  I  was  con 
scious,  fully  conscious,  of  the  power  that  was  in  my 
hands  through  my  money,  and  to  save  myself,  I  couldn't 
care  a  rap  about  it.  There  was  nothing  it  could  buy  me 
that  I  really  wanted.  And  then  I  met  you.  I  loved 
you."  He  laid  his  cheek  against  her  hands  folded  in  his. 
"  I  loved  you  from  the  first ;  and  I'm  young  again. 
Why,  it's  the  fate  of  a  god !  "  His  face  was  touched 
with  a  pale  and  glowing  enthusiasm.  "  I'm  young, 
ambitious,  the  world's  a  world  of  illusions.  I  believe  in 
good  because  I  believe  in  you.  I  have  experience,  great 
wealth,  revived  interest.  What  may  I  not  do  now, 
Frances ! "  His  voice  thrilled  with  triumphant  rap 
ture. 

His  words  lifted  her  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
splendid  worlds;  the  ivory  gates  swung  wide;  but  on 
those  fair  sun-lighted  shores  she  became  suddenly  con 
scious  of  the  menacing  surf  of  a  great  ocean,  the  ocean 
of  pain,  and  she  seemed  to  hear  through  the  pleasing 

293 


THE    NEW     MISSIONER 

of  all  delicate  and  harmonious  sounds  the  cries  of  the 
shipwrecked. 

"  You  do  love  me,  Frances  ?  You  will  marry  me  ?  " 
His  words  came  to  her  as  from  far  away,  and  muffled 
by  the  roar  of  the  mighty  sea. 

And  now  the  delicate  and  harmonious  sounds  swelled 
also  to  an  ocean,  and  between  the  roar  of  the  opposing 
surges,  the  surges  of  the  ocean  of  pain  and  the  ocean 
of  joy,  she  became  bewildered  and  confused  beyond 
speech. 

She  struggled  to  her  feet;  he  saw  that  her  face  was 
deadly  white,  and  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  eyes. 

"  To-morrow,"  she  whispered,  pleadingly.  "  I — I 
can't " 

"  You  are  tired  out,"  he  murmured.  "  These  merci 
less  people.  They  draw  and  draw  and  draw  on  you. 
Well,  we'll  put  a  stop  to  that.  I  am  going  now,  and  you 
are  to  rest,  Frances,  to  take  a  long  rest  and  let  no  one 
disturb  you.  Will  you  promise  me  that  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  And  I  will  not  come,  I  promise  you,  before  to 
morrow  evening.  No,  that  is  so  long — to-morrow  after 
noon." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "To-morrow  afternoon." 

But  in  spite  of  her  promise,  she  rested  but  little  that 
night,  for  on  the  golden  sands  of  all  her  splendid  worlds 
there  still  beat  the  low,  terrible  surges  of  the  ocean  of 
pain,  and  through  crowding  and  glorious  visions,  she 
saw  the  face  of  Herries  turned  to  her  and  he,  who 
never  asked,  besought  help  and  comfort. 

294 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-TWO 

Finding  it  impossible  to  sleep,  she  arose  very  early 
and  made  her  way  up  to  the  old  man's  cabin,  and  there, 
to  her  relief,  she  found  him.  The  light  was  just  glim 
mering  over  the  hills  as  she  threw  wider  the  half  open 
door.  He  sat  alone,  in  the  shadows,  his  head  sunk  on 
his  breast.  His  face  had  sharpened  visibly,  the  outline 
more  cameo-like  than  ever,  and  his  skin  had  acquired  a 
strange,  blue  pallor;  the  bitter  lines  about  the  mouth 
had  also  deepened  perceptibly. 

"  Mr.  Herries,"  cried  Frances  from  the  doorway ; 
but  he  looked  at  her  without  response,  looked  at  her  un 
flinchingly,  and  yet,  as  if  she  were  but  another  of  the 
many  phantoms  of  the  night  come  to  mock  him.  She 
went  forward  and  kneeling  beside  him,  took  in  hers  his 
cold  hands.  "  Mr.  Herries,"  she  implored,  "  what  is 
it?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 

"  It  was  I — I  who  killed  O'Brien,"  he  muttered  at 
last.  "  I  saw  Bob  Flick  and  the  Pearl  meeting  day 
after  day.  I  sent  Angel  into  the  pines  to  listen  to  them 
— I  went  myself — I  told  O'Brien — I  knew  how  mad  and 
jealous  he  was,  but  I  told  him." 

Frances  shrank  from  him,  her  face  white.  "  You  told 
him !  "  she  whispered.  "  You  told  him !  Why  ?  " 

"  God  knows  why — I  persuaded  myself  that  he  ought 
to  know,  that  it  was  right  that  I  should  tell  him ;  but  I 
know  now  that  it  was  the  devil  in  me.  I'd  got  so  that 
I  couldn't  believe  in  God  or  man,  and  the  black  malice 
in  my  heart  had  to  take  shape  and  strike ;  but  I  believed 
in  you,  Missioner,  I  believed  in  you  and  I'd  made  up 

295 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

my  mind  to  come  to  you  before  I  spoke  to  O'Brien. 
Then  I  looked  through  your  window,  and  I  saw  you 
sitting  there  with  Garvin,  with  a  smile  on  your  lips  and 
a  bunch  of  roses,  red  roses  on  your  breast — and  I 
turned  away.  Why  should  I  spoil  your  happiness?" 

Frances  crouched,  almost  cringed  on  the  floor  beside 
him  in  silence. 

"  Aye,  shrink  from  me,"  he  cried.  "  You're  right.  I 
ask  no  forgiveness." 

"  Forgiveness !  Forgiveness !  "  she  cried  poignantly. 
"  Oh,  can  you  ever  forgive  me  ?  "  She  got  to  her  feet,  a 
curious  blank,  almost  blind  look  in  her  eyes,  and  drifted 
through  the  door.  Out  on  the  hillside,  she  walked  on 
and  on,  indifferent,  unconscious  of  the  direction  she 
took,  until  wearied,  she  sank  down  beneath  a  tree  and 
sat  there  for  a  long  time,  brooding,  motionless.  At  last 
she  arose  and  walked,  though  wearily,  on  up  the  hill. 


296 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE 

1 T  was  one  of  those  soft,  dull,  dim  days  when  the  grey 
sky  seems  to  melt  by  imperceptible  gradations  into  a 
grey  and  toneless  earth.  November  in  the  mountains. 

The  afternoon  was  at  hand  when  Garvin  would  seek 
his  answer,  and  Frances  was  far  from  her  cabin.  Ever 
since  she  had  left  Herri es  she  had  wandered  on  up  the 
trails  through  mists,  alone  in  a  great,  unreal  world.  It 
was  as  if  the  vast  and  solitary  mountains  demanded  se 
clusion  for  some  high  communion,  and  before  exhibiting 
themselves  in  the  clear  sunlight  of  self-revelation,  with 
drew  for  a  period  of  mysterious  meditation.  The 
dimmed  distances  were  blue,  a  smoke-like  and  blurred 
blue;  the  leafless  branches  interlaced  their  fine  criss 
cross  of  twigs  against  this  unsubstantial  background, 
the  pines  were  strong,  green  masses,  the  green  acquir 
ing  new  depth  and  vividness  from  the  mist-sea  on  which 
they  floated. 

A  fine  rain  fell;  but  Frances  ignored  it,  and  walked 
on  until  she  reached  a  level  plateau  known  to  her,  and 
covered  with  low,  twisted,  wind-bent  pines.  There  she 
stopped  suddenly,  for  sitting  on  a  great,  wet  rock 
was  the  Black  Pearl. 

Unconscious  of  Frances's  approach,  she  sat  gazing 
down  at  the  clouds  which  lay  between  her  and  the  val 
ley.  Her  gown  was  open  at  the  throat  as  if  she  had 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

pulled  it  apart  for  more  air ;  her  burnt-umber  hair  was 
almost  slipping  down  her  back;  there  were  sagging 
pouches  of  loose  skin  under  her  ejes  and  her  firm, 
rounded  chin. 

She  remained  oblivious  of  the  Missionary's  approach 
until  Frances  touched  her  lightly  on  the  arm.  Then  she 
turned  with  a  quick  frown,  "  Oh,"  with  dull  petulance ; 
*'  it's  you,  Missioner." 

"  Yes."  Frances  sat  down  on  the  rock  beside  her  and 
passed  her  hand  over  the  Pearl's  hair  and  shoulders: 
"  Why,  Mrs.  O'Brien,  how  long  have  you  been  sit 
ting  here?  Your  hair  is  soaking  wet  and  so  is  your 
dress." 

"  Oh,  yes — it's  been  wet,  I  suppose,"  impatiently. 
"What's  the  difference?  Say,  Missioner,"  clasping  her 
hands  around  her  knees  and  drawing  her  feet  further 
up  on  the  rocks.  "  It's  an  awful  thing  to  think,  ain't  it  ? 
I  ain't  never  had  any  education  except  what  I  picked  up 
from  the  boys,  and  I  don't  suppose  I  know  much;  but 
I  always  been  a-thinkin'  an'  a-studyin'  about  things. 
Now  take  the  ladies  down  there  in  Zenith.  They're  con 
tent  managin'  their  own  affairs  and  other  people's. 
They  don't  care  for  anything  that  don't  concern  their 
eatin'  and  drinkin',  their  kids  an'  their  husbands;  but 
if  you  once  get  to  studyin'  about  life,  Missioner,  you 
can't  stop.  You  got  to  go  on  thinkin',  an'  it  haunts  you 
night  an'  day.  You  can't  get  away  from  it;  it's  like  a 
great  wheel  that's  always  a-turnin',  an'  you  see  the 
awful  misery,  jus'  sufferin',  sufferin'  everywhere.  An' 
people  talk  an'  tell  you  the  Lord  loves  'em's  the  reason 

298 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-THREE 

he's  torturin'  their  souls  an'  bodies.  An'  you  know  it's 
lies,  lies.  God,  Missioner !  I  feel  every  minute  like  I  got 
to  fling  myself  off  these  rocks." 

In  her  little  cabin,  Garvin  was  waiting  for  her  answer, 
even  now.  This  was  the  one  swift  thought  that  flashed 
across  Frances  Benson's  mind.  This  was  the  day  of 
which  she  had  dreamed,  the  birthday  of  her  life,  a  day 
of  vast  and  sunlighted  spaces,  of  peacock  thrones  and 
gold  and  purple  decorations;  down  the  hill,  love,  home, 
companionship  awaited  her,  and  her  whole  spent  being 
longed  for  them ;  but  the  natural  impulse  to  help,  en 
forced  and  strengthened  by  years  of  training,  asserted 
itself  imperatively.  She  did  not  think  of  setting  another 
season  for  the  Pearl's  consolation.  The  peacock  thrones, 
the  birthday  celebration  must  wait.  The  softness  faded 
from  her  eyes,  the  weary  lines  from  her  face.  Her  figure 
involuntarily  straightened  itself.  She  was  a  soldier  on 
guard  now,  and  this  was  the  firing  line. 

Without  conscious  thought,  but  by  mere  intuitive 
perception  of  the  only  way  to  meet  the  situation,  she 
threw  herself  into  the  other  woman's  mood. 

"  Pearl,  it's  a  wheel,  as  you  say,  a  great  wheel  that's 
always  turning  and  crushing  the  lives  of  men  and  women 
and  little  children.  And  it's  crueler  than  death  and  the 
grave,  unless  you  see  it  right.  I  can't  see  it  right, 
either,  just  now,  Pearl,"  the  cry  came  from  her  soul; 
"  but," — the  old  mystic  glow  in  her  eyes,  "  I  know  it, 
even  if  I  can't  see  it.  It's  all  love  and  beauty." 

The  haggard  woman  twitched  her  shoulders  restlessly 
from  Frances's  encircling  arm.  "  I  know,"  with  a  con- 

299 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

temptuous  curl  of  the  lip,  "  that's  what  Ethel's  been 
a-tellin'  me.  Ethel  with  her  Salvation  Army  talk!  Say, 
Missioner,"  breaking  away  from  the  thread  of  her  own 
despairing  musings  for  a  moment  and  speaking  with 
earnestness  and  appreciation :  "  You  certainly  done  the 
white  thing  by  Ethel.  She  was  tellin'  me  the  other  day 
how  she  stole  that  money  from  the  Army,  an'  how  you 
comforted  her  an'  give  her  the  cash  out  of  your  own 
pocket  to  pay  it.  Do  you  think  if  I  didn't  know  how 
you  done  things  like  that,  that  I'd  sit  here  an'  listen 
to  you  talk?  I've  heard  too  much  talk  in  my  life.  An' 
that  Lunger  Preacher — Carrothers — he  come  to  me  an' 
handed  out  somethin'  about  repentin',  I  believe,  an' 
some  thief  or  other  on  the  cross.  I  didn't  pay  much 
attention  to  him;  I  ain't  no  thief.  It's  all  of  a  piece 
with  what  the  Padre  used  to  tell  me  down  in  the  desert, 
an*  it's  all  lies.  There  ain't  no  justice."  She  dropped 
her  head  on  her  knees  and  the  long,  wet  strands  of  her 
hair  fell  about  her. 

For  a  moment  Frances  turned  her  puzzled  gaze  down 
into  the  valley  of  clouds,  then  lifted  them  to  the  grey, 
bending,  unsubstantial  skies.  Into  her  brooding  eyes 
there  flashed  a  sudden  illumination  like  the  gleam  of  fire 
on  steel. 

"  Pearl,"  she  cried,  and  her  face  was  stern,  "  don't 
you  say  that !  You're  a  living  proof  that  there  is  justice. 
Preacher  comes  to  you,  Ethel  comes  to  you,  I  come, 
offering  what  comfort  we  can,  and  we  sit  and  talk  to 
you  and  every  word  we  say  falls  on  deaf  ears.  Why? 
Because  what  you  sow  you  reap ;  and  you've  sowed  hell, 

300 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-THREE 

Pearl,  and  you've  got  to  reap  it.  You  can't  get  out  of 
prison  till  you've  paid  the  last  farthing,  and  it's  no  use 
trying.  You  can't  break  the  bars  and  crawl  out,  paying 
fifty  cents  on  the  dollar;  it's  dollar  for  dollar;  be 
cause  it's  justice. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  all  your  life,  Pearl  ? 
You've  been  sowing  the  wind.  The  Black  Pearl !  That's 
what  they've  called  you,  and  that's  what  you've  been, 
and  you've  dragged  plenty  down  with  you.  But  you 
haven't  been  happy  because  you  can  think,  and  what 
has  been  the  misery  of  your  life  is  going  to  be  the 
thing  that  will  save  you.  You're  black,  but  you're  a 
pearl  still,  and  pearl  means  white.  You've  got  to  see 
it  that  way.  You've  been  throwing  dice  with  sin  all 
your  life,  and  sin's  let  you  win;  but  it's  taking  its 
wages  now,  and  the  wages  is  death." 

The  Pearl  had  lifted  her  head,  and  now  she  sat  star 
ing  at  the  stern-voiced  Missionary.  "  Yes,"  she  nodded, 
"  its  wages  has  sure  been  death." 

"  But,  Pearl,"  the  voice  thrilled  with  tenderness, 
"  you've  suffered  enough  to  pay  your  debts  to  sin ;  now 
turn  around  and  pay  yourself." 

"To  myself?    Debts  to  me?" 

"  Yes.  The  biggest  debt  you  owe  is  to  yourself,  to 
the  white  side  of  you,  the  side  that  can  think;  for  do 
not  dream  that  you  can  ever  get  out  of  paying  those 
debts.  You  can't.  It  isn't  any  use  trying." 

"  God !  If  I  ain't  paid  for  my  sins,  I'd  like  to  know 
who  has ! "  It  was  an  exceeding  bitter  cry. 

"  Then  leave  them."  The  Missionary's  tone  was  a 
301 


command.  "  Leave  them  and  begin  to  see  yourself  as 
white,  not  black." 

The  Pearl  clutched  Frances's  arm  tensely,  her  face 
broke  up,  rivers  of  tears  poured  from  her  eyes. 
"  Them's  the  only  words  that's  reached  me.  There 
wasn't  a  mite  of  comfort  for  me  in  anything  the  others 
said,  not  a  mite.  But,"  and  her  face  fell,  "  it's  all  right 
to  tell  me  that  black's  to  turn  around  and  be  white ;  but 
how  am  I  goin'  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  suppose,"  asked  Frances,  "  that  there 
are  others  in  the  world  just  as  bad  and  just  as  suf 
fering  as  you?  Isn't  it  true  that  you  could  understand 
and  help  those  that  have  lived  the  same  life  that  you 
have,  and  have  had  the  same  things  to  meet  ?  " 

"  I  might  try,"  said  Pearl,  a  new  light  in  her  eyes ; 
"  but  it  would  be  easier  to  die." 

"Yes;  but  you've  got  to  live.  There's  justice,  jus 
tice  at  the  heart  of  the  universe,  and  you've  got  to  pay 
the  debt  to  yourself." 

"  Is  it  true  ? "  she  still  doubted.  "  It  sounds  like 
sense  to  me;  it's  kind  o'  plain;  but  is  it  true?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  true,  and  I'll  never  leave  you,  Pearl,  till  I 
prove  it  to  you." 

"  You  swear  that?"  again  clutching  her. 

"  Yes,  I  swear  it." 

The  Pearl  stood  up.  "  I  kin  breathe  now,"  she  said. 
"  I  tell  you  what,  Missioner,  I  ain't  one  to  do  anything 
half-hearted.  If  there's  any  white  to  me  I'm  goin'  to 
find  it.  Where  are  you  goin'  ?  "  as  Frances  rose  from 
the  rock  and  took  a  step  or  two  forward. 

302 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-THREE 

"  Further  up  the  trail.  There's  something  in  my 
mind  that  I  want  to  think  out,  so  I'm  going  to  say 
good-bye  now  to  the  white  Pearl." 

They  parted,  the  trail  Frances  followed  leading 
further  on  up  toward  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  It 
seemed  more  wet  and  slippery  than  before  and  she 
stumbled  once  or  twice  and  fell  on  her  knees.  Mechan 
ically  she  brushed  off  her  skirt  and  went  on. 

It  was  not  until  she  reached  timber  line  that  she 
paused.  Above  her  were  the  great,  bare  rocks  and 
boulders,  and  crowning  them  the  sharp,  cold  peaks. 

Here  the  fine  rain  had  ceased  to  fall.  The  sky,  al 
though  still  a  dense  grey,  seemed  no  longer  to  blend 
with  the  mists  and  to  bend  so  near  that  one  might 
touch  it.  It  was  further  away,  quite  far  above  even 
the  peaks,  and  had  begun  to  change  like  a  faintly  tinted 
opal,  as  if  behind  its  dim,  opaque  density  there  were 
gold  and  flame  and  blue.  For  a  long  time  Frances 
gazed  at  the  still  white  peaks;  then,  as  her  glance 
travelled  downward,  she  saw  Garvin  climbing  the  hill. 

"  I  stopped  at  the  cabin,"  he  said,  when  he  reached 
her,  "  but  you  were  not  there,  so  I  came  on  up,  further 
and  further,  until  I  met  the  Pearl,  and  she  said  you  had 
come  up  this  trail.  Mercy,  what  a  climb !  Why  did  you 
run  away,  Frances  ?  "  His  eyes  were  full  of  a  tender  re 
proach.  "  I  couldn't  sit  in  the  cabin  and  wait  for  you. 
I  had  to  find  you.  Why,  last  night,  I  couldn't  sleep.  I 
kicked  the  logs  together  on  my  library  hearth,  and  I 
sat  there  all  night — thinking.  I  planned  the  journeys 
we'd  take  together  all  over  the  world;  the  palaces  and 

303 


the  gardens  and  the  pictures  we'd  see  and  buy.  Why,  I 
even  thought  of  the  jewels  I'm  going  to  give  you,  you 
wonderful,  dark,  sweet  Frances — rubies,  quarts  of  them. 
There  will  be  mighty  few  women  in  this  country  that 
can  have  any  more.  Oh,  Frances,  what  a  life  we  shall 
have ;  for  you  are  going  to  marry  me,  aren't  you  ?  " 

It  was  the  woman  who  looked  at  him,  love  in  the  deeps 
of  her  eyes;  it  was  a  soldier  on  the  firing  line  who 
answered  him: 

"  No." 

"  No,"  he  echoed,  his  face  paling.  "  Why — • 
why !" 

"  No,"  she  hurried,  "  I'm  not  going  to  marry  you.  I 
know  it  isn't  fair  to  you.  I  shouldn't  have  let  things  go 
on  as  they  have.  I  cannot  blame  myself  enough,  and 
I'm  going  to  pay  for  it,"  with  a  bitter  smile ;  "  but — 
but — I  dare  not  yield  to  this  temptation." 

At  these  conventional  words  he  lifted  his  hands  and 
brought  them  down  with  clenched  fists,  an  impotent,  im 
patient,  despairing  gesture.' 

"  The  same  old  thing !  The  same  old  priestly  advice, 
with  which  women  love  to  sear  and  shrivel  their  lives. 
Frances,"  with  sudden  determination,  "  do  you  like  me 
well  enough  to  think  that  you  could  be  happy  with  me  ?  " 

She  nodded  mutely.  There  was  anguish  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  affirmed  triumphantly.  "  You 
know  that  you  love  me.  Reason  enough  to  give  me  up. 
Was  there  ever  a  woman  with  a  touch  of  the  religious 
temperament  who  didn't  sacrifice  herself  and  everyone 

304 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-THREE 

else?  Renunciation,  I  believe  they  call  it.  Renuncia 
tion  with  every  letter  a  capital.  Frances,  I'm  not  going 
to  be  given  up.  Do  not  dream  it." 

Their  eyes  met,  clashed ;  but  neither  wavered. 

"  You  are,"  she  answered,  "  for  you  cannot  hold  me. 
I  do  love  you " 

"  You  love  me,  but  you  won't  marry  me,"  he  laughed 
impatiently.  "  It's  the  loneliness  of  your  life,"  he  mur 
mured  presently,  as  if  analysing  to  himself  the  causes 
of  her  decision,  "  the  effect  of  celibacy  on  a  nature 
never  intended  for  it.  Well,  Frances,  since  you  are  de 
termined  to  be  a  missionary,  why  not  be  one 'to  me?  " 

"  Always,  when  you  need  me,"  steadily,  sincerely. 

"  Oh,  that  terrible,  monkish  stigmata  on  the  brain !  " 
he  cried.  "  The  madness,  the  fanaticism,  the  cruelty  of 
the  religious  temperament!  This  damnable  Renuncia 
tion  with  a  capital  R!  And  you  would  sacrifice  both 
you  and  myself  to  a  crazy,  egotistic  belief  that  you  are 
divinely  appointed  to  help  a  lot  of  sordid,  worthless, 
good-for-nothing  people?  Tell  me,  have  you  ever  had 
any  gratitude  from  them?  How  many  have  you  really 
helped?" 

"  Those  are  the  questions  that  I  used  to  ask  myself  in 
the  days  when  I  tried  to  help  people,"  she  smiled  in  sad 
derision,  "  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  never  helped  them. 
I  usually  harmed  them.  And  no  matter  how  hard  I 
worked,  the  results  were  always  so  meagre.  And  I  would 
get  so  discouraged  and  disheartened!  And  then,  one 
day,  I  cannot  tell  how  nor  why,  I  knew  all  at  once  that 
it  would  be  that  way  just  as  long  as  I  tried  to  help 

305 


them.  I  saw  that  I  had  no  right  to  try  and  guide  and 
direct  people.  Everyone  has  a  right  to  choose  his  own 
path,  no  matter  what  it  is,  or  where  it  leads.  So  I  just 
loved  them ;  and  in  that  way,  Walter,  I  learned  the  great 
secret  of  life — love.  Not  to  question  or  direct,  but 
just  give  love  and  sympathy,  and  tolerance — that  is  all 
we  need."  She  paused  and  looked  up  the  mountain. 

His  glance  followed  hers  and  he  saw  a  long,  rough 
steep,  great  pink  rocks  and  desolate  ice-peaks  swept 
always  by  the  mighty,  rushing  winds;  but  she  gazed 
out' upon  the  Via  Mystica,  a  weary  and  toilsome  road, 
but  guarded  always  by  tall  and  shadowy  angels  with 
healing  in  their  wings. 

"  If  you  loved  a  singer  would  you  ask  her  to  give  up 
her  beautiful  voice  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  would  neither  ask  nor  wish  her  to  do  so,  but  if 
she  really  loved  me  she  would  be  quite  willing." 

Frances  shook  her  head.  "  Willing ! "  she  cried, 
"  what  is  '  willing '  in  such  a  case?  If  it  is  a  true  gift, 
it  is  the  real  part  of  her,  and  the  only  real  part.  It  is 
her  expression.  My  poor  little  gift  is  to  love  all  who 
suffer,  and  I  couldn't  give  it  up.  It  is  me." 

He  looked  at  her  pityingly.  "  Ah,  Frances,  I  had 
not  dreamed  how  you,  with  your  sensitive,  impression 
able  temperament  had  suffered  from  the  seclusion  of 
these  mountains !  Dear,"  tenderly,  "  we  will  go  from 
these  gloomy  hills,  out  into  the  big,  sane,  laughing 
world  of  human  interests  and  activities.  There  has 
been  too  much  fasting  and  prayer  in  your  life,  dearest. 
We'll  cut  out  all  that,  thank  God !  I  shall  pick  you  up  in 

306 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-THREE 

a  minute  and  carry  you  down  the  hill,  close,  close  to  my 
heart,  and  we'll  catch  a  train  presently  and  go  out  to 
the  big  world  of  men  and  cities.  Why,  with  the  powers 
at  our  command,  we  can  drape  life  with  colour  and 
beauty.  Oh,  Frances,  won't  you  see  it — the  kingdoms  of 
the  earth  are  ours !  " 

" '  And  cinnamon  and  odours,  and  ointments,  and 
frankincense,  and  wine,  and  oil,  and  fine  flour,  and 
wheat,  and  beasts,  and  sheep,  and  horses,  and  chariots, 
and  slaves,  and  the  souls  of  men.' "  She  murmured  so 
low  that  he  did  not  hear  her. 

"  But  won't  you  think  of  me,  Frances  ?  Won't  you 
help  me  to  live,  now  that  I,  too,  have  found  the  secret 
of  life — which  is  my  love  for  you?  Won't  you  help  me 
realise  my  dreams  and  ambitions?  Do  they  mean  noth 
ing  to  you?  You  shall  have  all  the  playthings  you  want 
— hospitals,  churches,  schools — anything;  but  I  am 
going  into  public  life.  I  need  your  help.  Think  of  the 
opportunities !  Think " 

"  I  do  think.  I  have  thought,"  she  interrupted  him 
passionately.  "  You  have  great  possessions,  and  with 

them  are  developing  great  ambitions "  She  stopped 

abruptly,  the  mental  struggle  manifest  in  her  face,  her 
eyes;  then  she  rose  above  the  jealous,  dominating  fem 
inine.  "  In  your  brilliant  and  luxurious  life  I  would  be 
only  a  husk,  a  shell  of  a  woman,  who  would  have  to  be 
trained  into  a  painstaking  knowledge  of  customs  and 
manners  which  would  never  seem  to  me  worth  the  time 
and  interest  I  would  have  to  put  into  them.  It — it  is  not 
I  you  need  by  your  side," — she  moistened  her  white  lips, 

307 


THE     NEW     MISSIONER 

— "  but  a  young,  happy  woman,  to  whom  all  these  ob 
servances  are  as  natural  as  breathing.  A  young,  happy 
woman  with  golden  hair  and  a  coronet  of  roses.  Oh, 
Walter,"  after  a  brief  pause,  "  fool,  crank,  fanatic,  I 
may  be;  but  your  jewels  I  couldn't  wear.  I'd  see  always 
white  starving  faces  turned  to  me.  I  couldn't  decorate 
your  beautiful  houses  and  meet  your  guests ;  I'd  see 
stunted,  toil-worn  hands  stretched  out  to  me,  and  hear 
the  cries  of  the  shipwrecked.  Don't  you  see  that  my 
work  is  me  ?  " 

"  But  the  new  worlds  you  talked  so  much  about,  the 
worlds  of  beauty  and  colour  and  thought  and  imagina 
tion,"  he  pleaded. 

"  I  don't  belittle  them.  I  love  them ;  but  there's  a 
more  wonderful  reality.  Through  seeing  them,  I  see  far 
and  yet  farther  horizons.  I've  got  to  go  on,  Walter. 
I've  got  to  follow  life,  this  vision  of  life,  as  I  see  it 
myself,  not  as  you  would  see  it  for  me.  I  can't  help  it. 
I've  got  to  go  on." 

His  face  had  changed  and  darkened;  his  eyes  were 
cold,  his  mouth  bitter. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  woman,  capable  of  love ;  I 
find  that  you  are  a  fanatic,  willing  to  sacrifice  every 
thing  to  an  egotistic  passion  for  self-expression." 

"  It  is  life,  the  only  true  life.  Anything  else  is  death," 
she  muttered. 

When  he  left  her  she  stood  for  a  long  time  gazing 
out  over  the  mountains.  Then  she  crept  down  the  hill 
as  far  as  the  rock  on  which  she  and  the  Pearl  had  sat 
earlier  in  the  day,  and  huddled  close  against  it.  Night, 

308 


CHAPTER     TWENTY-THREE 

black  as  ink  and  broken  by  the  mocking  cries  of  the 
coyotes,  came  on,  and  lay  over  the  earth  for  many 
hours.  When  the  dawn  came,  Frances  strove  .to  rise; 
but  her  limbs  had  stiffened.  She  ached  from  head  to 
foot,  and  she  seemed  to  have  lost  the  power  and  will 
to  move.  The  pale  light  gradually  deepened,  and  when 
the  sun  at  last  arose,  it  sent  one  dazzling  ray  straight 
through  the  trees,  flashing  the  high  command  of  eter 
nal  morning :  "  Lift  up  your  gates  and  sing !  " 

Frances  remembered  that  other  morning  when, 
through  joy,  she  had  lifted  her  gates  as  high  as  heaven. 
Now  she  was  crushed  beneath  those  gates ;  now  she  had 
but  her  soul's  heritage — the  comfortless — to  comfort 
her.  As  she  thought  of  them,  their  weakness  and  tears 
seemed  to  flow  toward  her,  augmenting  her  strength. 
With  infinite  difficulty  she  struggled  to  her  knees,  then 
to  her  feet.  Her  stiffened  arms  she  slowly  raised  above 
her  head,  as  if  she  held  aloft  the  grief  of  the  world.  She 
would  lift  her  gates  as  high  as  heaven,  and  the  very 
soul  of  her  should  sing. 


THE  END 


309 


J£ SOUTHfflNHEQIONAL  UBRAR 


A     000129347     1 


